


Somewhere Only We Know

by gmuhh



Series: elf AU [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Genre: (elvish mind-to-mind communication), Aged up characters, Alternate Universe - Middle Earth Setting, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More tags will be added as the story progresses, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, daichi and yui are siblings, descriptions of gore/blood, in which the volleyball nerds are all elves, individual chapters will contain content warning if applicable, mute character, song enchantments, starts out angsty and painful but will be fixed eventually, Ósanwe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-05-25 12:59:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 57,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6196036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gmuhh/pseuds/gmuhh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When their home town gets attacked and destroyed, Koushi and Tadashi barely manage to escape. On the run for their lives they end up in Imladris where they are offered safety and a place to stay. But Koushi's hurt runs deep. </p><p>(Middle Earth AU, set in the early Third Age after the War of the Last Alliance)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Star Kissed Child

**Author's Note:**

> At some point I was wondering what would happen if Daichi and Suga were elves. Next time I checked I had half of this written. Then it kinda got out of hand and I got side-tracked by a bunch of other characters. I blame [Maka](http://makariaartsabout.tumblr.com/) for encouraging me with enthusiastic screaming and the most amazing support I could have asked for, badass beta-ing included.
> 
> If I go through with this it will be about 20 chapters long. On the plus side, I have most of it drafted already. Now Ijust need to manage not to chicken out before we get to the smutty chapters.  
> (Title is from Keane's song, which keeps being amazing)
> 
> This chapter includes mentions of war and death of family members, lots of angst, descriptions of fighting and blood/gore.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Koushi feels paralysed from panic. He can't let this happen. They have to make it. They have to escape. He has to get them to safety.

Mist is hanging low between the trees, swallowing up any excess sounds of the nearby forest. It would be beautiful, Koushi thinks, if only he could focus on it. He tries to grasp at the picture before his eyes, desperately needing to stay awake and keep going.

At this point, Koushi is long beyond hanging on for his own sake. He needs to remain strong. He has to, for his brother.

“Come on... Tadashi, come on, we're almost there, just a few more steps,” Koushi whispers and isn't even sure who he tries to encourage more, himself or the boy beside him.

Tadashi's arm is a dead weight around his shoulders, feet dragging with every step. Koushi can feel him shake his head slightly and take in a breath as if to speak.

“Hush, now, just keep going. You're doing so well. So well.” But even Koushi knows his words lack conviction.

Home is so far behind already. Or, what is left of their home anyway. Days have become a blur of despair and pain since the attack. How long has it been? Weeks, probably; maybe more, Koushi thinks.

He is so tired, so very tired.

But they can't give up. Not when they have made it this far. The terrain has gotten rockier, once distant mountains a lot closer now, their destination hidden somewhere seemingly within reach. So Koushi ignores Tadashi's pained hitch of breath as he slings his arm tighter around Tadashi’s waist and drags him forward once more.

Memories of a seemingly long gone past rush into Koushi's worn-out mind with every step he takes. They aren't of the happy kind.

Tadashi has been so little when he lost his family; some days Koushi wonders if he can remember them at all. But he mustn't ask him that, not ever. Not when Tadashi looks at him with so much trust in his eyes. Koushi has been there when it happened, sworn to himself that he would always protect him, wouldn't let any harm come to Tadashi ever again. Koushi's parents have taken Tadashi in, raised him as their own son, and he has been Koushi's brother ever since. There is a long ingrained responsibility behind Koushi's stubbornness to bring them both to safety now.

“I don't know _how_ , but we will, Tadashi,” Koushi promises him, clutches his brother's body closer against his own. “We will be safe.”

Safety. Responsibility. The need to protect.

Koushi knows these to be his weaknesses, and yet he is helpless about them. This time he has fought when in the past he had to stay back and do nothing but watch.

Watch and deal with the aftermath.

“Please, Koushi, he needs you,” Koushi’s parents told him before they had set off into battle. “You need to take care of Tadashi when we are gone.”

Koushi wanted to scream, wanted to keep them from leaving. He wanted to fight in their stead, tell them that he was nearly of age and old enough, strong enough, even though he knew he wasn't. But there was no place for him on that battlefield, and the farewell of his parents was final.

They have been simple craftsmen, not meant to fight, and Koushi knows that the hope of them surviving maybe existed in his dreams but never as a realistic concept. He cried bitterly when the war was over and they weren't among the few who returned, wept until he was too exhausted to spill any more tears. But none of them would bring his parents back. And when he got up again he did so for Tadashi, his brother, who was now twice orphaned in years too young to endure such pain.

Koushi still remembers the lullaby he sung to Tadashi that night, its lines and melody burnt into his memory like nothing else. Despite everything, it is a song that always manages to cheer Tadashi up, so Koushi kept singing even when his throat had threatened to close up with every fresh wave of tears and pain.

In the following years it has become something of a ritual between the two of them. Koushi would sing, be it Tadashi or himself who needed it, and he would hold Tadashi close to his chest, fingers stroking lightly through his dark hair until they would both fall asleep. Koushi would sing for him until Tadashi's face would fall into relaxed lines, freckles unworried and smile easy on his lips.

Time passed. Tadashi has grown taller than Koushi himself, but he still seeks him out when he can't sleep, and Koushi still soothes away the nightmares.

And then it has all fallen apart within the blink of an eye.

Fire. Screaming. All of Tadashi's nightmares coming true.

Koushi remembers the panicked look in Tadashi's eyes. It's something he would never forget. And then everything happened very quickly. A desperate attempt at defence, artless and untrained fighting, Tadashi wanting to be strong like everyone who had ever been strong for him.

But it was no good, and Koushi thinks it a miracle that they have survived at all, can't even recall how he managed to drag Tadashi away and out of sight. When they looked back their village alight in flames, smoke rising in heavy clouds. The air smelled of death and the fate they had barely managed to escape.

None of that matters now as Koushi tries to keep himself together. He can't let it matter, not when he has a goal in mind that needs his sole focus.

Safety.

He allows for a short break when Tadashi halts and looks up at him with concern.

“Kou,” Tadashi says in a thin voice, barely there, eyes closed as if he is trying to concentrate on something.

“I'm here,” Koushi says softly. “I'm here, Tadashi.” And he starts humming their lullaby, the one that always makes Tadashi dream of flowers in spring, warm summer nights, the golden light in autumn, and the wondrous ice crystals of winter.

But his song seems poisoned like the wound on Tadashi's leg, makes the melody come out crooked and limping like Tadashi's step.

“Please, Kou...” Tadashi whispers again, and there are tears in his eyes now. “I want to go home. Please... just take me home.”

Koushi bites back his own sob, fights back the despair threatening to overwhelm him once again.

He isn't naïve – he knows their odds, is aware of just how thin the thread is they keep hanging on to. The wound on Tadashi's leg isn't healing as it should and is weakening him with every passing day, every passing hour. They ran out of food days ago and drinkable water is scarce in these lands. With his bow broken and his shoulder rendered useless from the fright they have so closely escaped, Koushi knows that he can't defend them. If they run into danger, one mistake, one misplaced step, and this could all be over. And yet they have to keep going, try and find shelter before nightfall, just keep going, just ke--

Tadashi slumps forward, and the world is slipping sideways with his weight dragging them both down, down, down.

Koushi is breathing heavily from exhaustion, tries to keep them from hitting the ground too hard when there is not enough strength left in him to keep them from falling entirely.

“Tadashi!” he gasps out, turning, wincing in pain when his torn shoulder gets jostled and his knees meet rock. “Are you-”

But Tadashi just blinks up at him over wide terrified eyes, his freckled face smudged with traces of sweat and blood.

“They found us, Kou...”

“What are you talking about? There is nobody around. It's just us. We have to keep going.” But he fails at keeping the panic out of his voice.

And then he hears it. The distant howling, growling sounds and the trampling of footsteps approaching with alarming speed. Orcs. Wolf riders.

“I'm sorry, I'm so-”

“Shhh,” Koushi whispers, trying to stagger to his feet, pulling at Tadashi's wrist. “We have to get up. We need to-”

Tadashi shakes his head, body trembling as he grips Koushi's sleeve. “No, Kou.” There are tears dripping down his nose silently with every heaved breath. “I can't... anymore. It's pointless. There is nowhere to hide. I'm just so tired... I just-- Kou. Just. Without me...”

“Don't say such a thing! I'm not leaving you behind!”

But Tadashi doesn't seem to hear him, just slumps forward once more, movement entirely void of any strength.

Koushi shakes at his shoulder.

_No! No no no. Wake up, wake up, wake up._

Koushi feels paralysed from panic. He can't let this happen. They have to make it. They have to escape. He has to get them to safety.

A black arrow hits the ground with a loud thud just a few strides away from them. The howling and growling gets closer.

“Tadashi!” Koushi almost shouts at his passed out form now.

No reaction.

The world spins before Koushi's eyes, darkening around the edges. This can't be the end, this can't be happening. But more arrows hit the ground around them, and the savage screams from the attackers ring shrill in his ears.

Koushi fumbles to retrieve the knife from his belt, hands shaking and feet unsteady as he gets up.

Suddenly, there is a certain calm to his thoughts when he sees the wolf riders approach, sees the violent glint in their eyes, smells their stench as the wind turns. It's almost as if he watches it happen from afar, as if he isn't really here.

Koushi knows it's hopeless, but he would fight nonetheless. Not for himself, but for Tadashi. “Safe him, oh Elbereth,” he whispers in a desperate prayer. “Keep your star kissed child safe when I can't.”

Koushi braces himself for the impact when the first creature makes to pounce at him.

Isn't this what he always wanted – to fight for the ones he cares about? Ironic how he finally gets his wish fulfilled now. He sees teeth, claws. Hears the sneer in their growling, knowing he is an easy victim in his already drained state.

On some level Koushi is sure he hears voices shouting in a familiar language. Maybe, Koushi thinks faintly, maybe this is his mind being merciful and allowing him one last happy moment before a painful end. Maybe this is some delirious illusion he dreamed up, a desperate wish to be taken care of and no longer needing to be the strong one for others when he has no strength left.

There is a sudden sharp pain as something hits his head. Then everything goes dark before his eyes and Koushi falls, falls, falls.

 

* * *

 

Kei sits completely still on his branch and watches the area below. It is autumn, the leaves still plentiful enough to keep him hidden but scarce enough for him to see through.

If it was up to him he would have stopped watch shifts a long time ago. An elaborate set-up of traps would do just as well, and they could simply check on those every once in a while. It's not as if orcs are the most clever creatures, so the risk seems low enough.

But nobody is asking Kei. So he keeps sitting in his tree and watches and listens.

He can hear Daichi rummage about in their camp, probably preparing for nightfall. Kei is glad that it is Daichi's turn to prepare food. Tanaka is useless at it, and whatever Noya produces can hardly be called edible. Those are usually the days on which Kei prefers to fast.

The wind turns, brings a new set of sounds and scents, and Kei closes his eyes to focus on them.

Footsteps, slow and dragging over grass, kicking loose stones. Sweat tinged with blood. Kei opens his eyes in search for the source and finds it immediately.

_Oh right, that's why they don't set up traps._

A pair of travellers is stumbling along the uneven terrain, one of them supporting the other as he drags him along. Kei can make out silver hair, and –

The wind turns again, and this time it brings the low sound of growling and a much too familiar stench. This isn't good, the others need to be informed.

Kei cups his hands around his mouth and lets out a hoarse cry. Then he waits.

 _Caw, caw!_ It echoes after a while as his team responds to the warning signal.

“Travellers, less than half a mile away north west from here. They appear to be in trouble,” Kei reports succinctly as he jumps down from his tree. “Wolf riders are approaching them. I could spot three, but there might be more on their way.”

Daichi nods his thanks to Kei, fierce determination in his eyes as he turns to the others and holds out his fist. “Let's hunt them down. Fight!”

“Fight!” Tanaka and Noya shout in unison, jumping with their fists punching into the air.

Kei picks up his bag as they take off. Their enthusiasm about slaughter would always be a mystery to him. Sometimes he wonders if some of their differences are connected to heritage. Kei usually does not like to believe in fate dictated by blood since being doomed by birth isn't exactly something he would enjoy, nor carrying on an ancient feud. No, Kei is convinced that his feeling of superiority over Tanaka and Noya has nothing to do with that. And frankly, they aren't much of a challenge, intellectually.

They have fought a war together, and he knows he can rely on them if need be. He values them enough as team mates, is able to appreciate their fervour and will to fight in battles. But there is a reason why they are tasked with the savage art of slaughter while he, Kei, is responsible for the more sensible and skill requiring task of healing. It's a constant source of bickering between them and their outright idiotic reactions provide Kei with enough amusement to even forgive their insultingly terrible cooking styles.

Daichi simply endures their little word battles most days. Kei almost feels bad for him, almost. But it's not as if anyone forced him to take up a captain's position, so Kei's pity for him is limited to a minimum. And Daichi does stop them when they go overboard, so there's that.

Noya and Tanaka are ahead now, jumping right in with Daichi following not far behind. Kei prefers to stay back to observe the situation before making rash decisions.

One of the travellers appears to have collapsed, and the other, the one with the silver hair, looks so worn out it is just a matter of time until he would follow his companion on the ground. Pathetic. They didn't stand a chance.

The air is filled with screeches and howling, and Tanaka's and Noya's combined battle cries. Something about thunder, or rolling, or both, Kei doesn't care. Somehow, Daichi manages to thwart the first wolf rider's course just enough to keep them from ripping off the silver haired traveller's head entirely.

 _Ah. That's some kind of achievement_ , Kei guesses vaguely, and immediately wonders if it is really worth it when he sees blood gushing forward and the traveller finally losing his battle against gravity.

Kei is calm as always, movements smooth and forceful. When he joins the fight it isn't in heated blood but in cold calculation of where to strike. Kei fights out of necessity. He has learned how to; he needs to be able to defend himself albeit his position as healer. Shedding blood isn't something he does because he enjoys it, but something he does because it has to be done. And it's simple enough, following steps and moves like a carefully choreographed dance.

The trick is to always be the one leading, deciding the beat, the rhythm, the spin. Always lead, but never follow. Step, step, turn. Pierce, step, slice.

Tanaka's and Noya's passion about battle is something Kei doesn't share, is something he almost envies them for. Both of them, usually obnoxious and annoyingly easy to distract by everything and nothing, are focused on the singular moment of their fight. Tanaka's attacks are head-on, always facing the enemy, and Noya brings them down in the unguarded blink of an eye. They wear matching smiles as their blades slice through enemy armour and flesh.

They are dancing, just as Kei is. But when they are dancing with death they seem to enjoy it.

At last, Kei wipes the blood off his long blade before sheathing it. The fight is over, and it's time, finally, to head back to their base camp and to focus on a more challenging task – how to keep these two travellers on the path of survival.

“One of them is waking up!” Noya shouts excitedly, just a little while later, when the silver haired elf stirs on the make-shift bed they made for him.

“Not so loud, you wouldn't want them to think we're another enemy,” Daichi reprimands him with a sigh and Kei feels gratitude. He can't focus if the idiots keep making noise.

“And if so?” Tanaka chimes in. “What if we are enemies to them? We don't even know who they are!”

“Yes, for all we know they could be spies! They look innocent enough for that!”

“Exactly, Ryuu is right. What if this was all just a plot, a feigned attack to get us to rescue them?”

Kei lets out a long exasperated sigh. There are those days on which he has a very hard time believing his own ears when he hears the stupidity uttered from these two. And today is definitely one of those days. He exhales again sharply.

 _Pathetic,_ he thinks, briefly considers telling them just how pathetic. But then he decides that it's not worth his breath and that he has more important things to focus on right now.

“You got a problem with us being careful for once?” Tanaka's voice rises and his eyebrows twitch in a tell-tale way when Kei turns to meet his eyes levelly.

_Oh well, so he had actually said that out loud then. Too bad._

“Stop it, you idiots!” Daichi cuts them off like he has countless times before.

“Speak for them, I'm not being idiotic.” Kei's voice is even as he crouches on the ground next to where the freckled boy is passed out. He proceeds to peel away dirty and torn cloth from his leg, revealing a nasty wound. “If we don't make it back home soon this one is not going to survive.”

“Ta...” the faint voice makes them all catch their breath.

“Hush, you're hurt,” Daichi makes quietly and places his hand on the forehead of the silver haired elf. Kei can see cold sweat on his face as he turns to look. “We'll take you somewhere safe.”

“Safe...” the sound stumbles over barely moving lips.

“Yes, safe,” Daichi repeats calmly. “Sleep now, we'll move soon.”

“Tadashi!” the traveller splutters out suddenly, hazel eyes open wide and startled. Then his body goes slack and he is unconscious once more.

_Well, that wasn't good._

Kei rummages in his bag for herbs, quickly thinks of whatever he can do here and now. They would need to boil water. Keeping wounds clean is an easy enough task, but washing the poison out isn't as easily done when it's been running in the blood stream for a while. The few ointments Kei carries with him are meant to help heal broken bones and scraped skin; they can take away some of the worst pain. But judging by the travellers’ state they are running out of time. All the help Kei can provide them with right now is something they would have needed weeks ago already.

“Tadashi, huh?” Noya peers over Daichi's shoulder. “Maybe that's the boy's name?”

“Maybe...” Daichi replies distractedly. “I don't like this. I'm no healer, but even I can tell that they need help as quick as possible.” He turns to where Kei is still working by the boy's side. “Kei, how are their wounds? Can we risk moving them?”

Kei lets out a sigh and bites back a remark about how wounds and moving someone aren't necessarily connected. “It's not like they had much of a chance to begin with,” he says instead, a weak attempt of glossing over the unpleasant truth.

“That's not an answer!” Tanaka complains.

“Yes, don't be so rude to our captain!” Noya chimes in.

_Eru, was there no limit to their stupidity?_

“Shut it!” Daichi growls and stares at them as they shrink back at his words. Finally. Kei silently thanks him. “Make yourselves useful and pack up as much as you can!” Daichi directs and they shuffle away, shoulders bumping and voices low as they keep on speculating about the two strangers they saved.

“Kei, tell me,” Daichi tries again, voice quiet now as he kneels down next to him.

Kei wills his hands to stop shaking, but the tips of his fingers still tremble as he moves to pull back the cloth he has covered the boy's leg with while they talked.

“Poisoned,” he states the obvious as he looks down on what appears to be a small shot wound, skin around it swollen and over-heated, pus and blood leaking from the edges. There is a red streak climbing up his leg, disappearing under the edge of his breeches. “And not just since yesterday. Elbereth knows for how long they've been on the run. The other one is in slightly better shape, but I wouldn't bet my right hand on him making it either.”

Kei looks at Daichi openly. “I cannot help them here.”

Daichi nods slowly. “I see.”

Kei is waiting for his decision. But he has an inkling what Daichi's command will be, after all these years he knows their captain well enough.

“You take the boy, I'll ride with the other one,” Daichi says, confirming Kei's guess. “Tanaka and Noya will guard our backs.”

Kei just sighs again, putting honesty above politeness. “I don't see the point. But I'll follow your order.”

“Good,” Daichi says and meets Kei's eyes without blinking. “We're leaving immediately.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'm sorry)


	2. The Girl With The Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When she arrived, Hitoka almost immediately regretted her decision. Imladris was _such_ a scary place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you for the ever amazing [Maka](http://makariaartsabout.tumblr.com/) for being my beta and encouraging me to keep working on this!
> 
> This chapter contains vague descriptions of medical procedures, elvish mind-to-mind communication, and nightmares.  
> (Asahi is good for the soul)

Even after years spent in Imladris, even when she calls it her home now, Hitoka still has her moments of wondering how she ended up here.

Her mother had sat her down one day, saying Hitoka needed to decide what to do with her life. Hitoka inwardly panicked upon the responsibility of such an decision. She spent the following weeks working out a meticulous list titled _'Things To Do With My Life'_ and began noting down good and bad sides for each item.

One of the first things she crossed off that list was _'train to fight'_ , something she could say with absolute certainty was not for her. Similarly enough she took _'smithing'_ and _'woodworking'_ off that list, because the necessary strength wasn't something she thought she couldn't possibly gain. Not soon after she boldly stroke through _'become a painter like mother'_ , because even the thought of trying to one day reach her mother's level of skill was rude enough to make her blush deeply with embarrassment.

One by one, Hitoka went through her list. She briefly considered _'study with the historians and loremasters'_ but she knew that while studying and reading wasn't something that felt difficult to her it wasn't what she particularly enjoyed. And her mother would never approve of her pursuing a path in life she wasn't ready to give her all.

The list thinned out unbelievably quickly, and in the end Hitoka looked down at it and saw only one line left.

_'Healing.'_

Of course, when she told her mother, flustered and mumbling, she received a lecture about responsibility which was nearly enough to make Hitoka reconsider. Interest was never her problem, but the confidence to go through with it was something she knew she would need to work on.

And yet, despite her doubts, despite the lack of passion behind her decision, Hitoka felt excitement mixing with her dread when she received news that she was granted a place in Imladris to study the art of healing. She promised her mother to _'make the most of her potential'_ , and she had no intentions of disappointing.

When she arrived, she almost immediately regretted her decision. Imladris was _such_ a scary place.

Everything was so big, and there were so many people everywhere, and they all seemed busy and doing important things and Hitoka was just there in the middle of it, small and insignificant and scared and –

“Hey there, new person!” two voices shouted at her in unison.

Hitoka nearly jumped. Everything happened so fast. There were two dark haired figures moving toward her much too quick for her liking, wild grins on their faces. Then there was another deep voice, almost growling, bellowing at them to stay back as if they were wild dogs. They were shoved aside roughly within the blink of an eye.

“I'm sorry about those two,” the commanding voice said again, much softer this time, and when Hitoka looked up she saw the broad silhouette of an elf right in front of her.

 _Why was everyone staring at her?_ She instinctively backed away until she hit the wall behind her.

“Ah, you're the new apprentice?” a fourth voice was rumbling behind her, and Hitoka let out a high-pitched screech. She turned around and found herself face to face not with the wall but with a sheer _enormous_ person, the one who had asked who she was, and thought she might pass out.

This was a nightmare. Everything and everyone here was scary.

Hitoka focused on calming her breathing and staying conscious and fighting the urge to flee. She had no idea how she was supposed to ever feel at ease here. Or, if not at ease, then at least less desperate to become invisible.

But she had made a promise, and she would honour it. So Hitoka grit her teeth and tried to be brave. And after some time she discovered that none of it was quite as terrible, and she learned many things about this new place and its residents.

The loud ones, Noya and Tanaka, never mean any actual harm with their unrestrained bursts of energy, and the one bellowing at them, Daichi, is always polite towards Hitoka and she can see that he tries hard to not make her feel too threatened. Hitoka is well accustomed to them by now, knows to respect them and stay out of the way when they cause too much of a commotion for her taste.

Asahi, though, the giant with the deep voice, is the one Hitoka had been scared of for the longest. He talks less than the others and it's harder to understand his motives when most of his sentences are almost immediately cut off by someone louder than him. Hitoka still remembers the feeling of fright upon hearing that he of all possible people would become her mentor and would teach her. But as time went by she understood that he had a heart of glass and a gentle soul. And learning under his guidance has always been surprisingly easy.

Asahi praises her even for the little things she does right, and he has seemingly endless patience with her in his explanations and demonstrations of skills she needs to learn.

She once dared to ask him how he always remained collected and went out of his way to encourage her even when there was something she was incapable of mastering.

“I'm simply trying to be the mentor I always wished I had,” had been his answer and his smile was so sad that Hitoka apologised and bowed deeply and once again swore to herself to honour his efforts and be a worthy student.

Bit by bit, Hitoka learns her ways around Imladris.

On bad days she is still so very scared. On good days she is less intimidated than she was in the beginning, even when she can't quite manage to put aside all of her fears. Lately, there have been more good days than bad days, and Hitoka likes to think that this is an improvement.

The once complicated structures and ranks among them become more clear the longer Hitoka stays, slowly fitting into a bigger picture that makes sense in its own way. The healers she is learning from and practising with are those who remain in Imladris at all times. But there is also another division of healers who go out there to be present in the fights in case they are needed. Some of them had even been to war, and Hitoka shudders just at the thought of it.

One of the first field healers Hitoka ever met is Kei from Daichi's team. She can't help but feel inferior in his presence. It isn't his height, or the way he proudly holds his head up high, or the way he hardly speaks as if he is purposefully ignoring everyone who doesn't outright demand words from him. No, Hitoka is quite fine with being ignored, after all it is a lot less intimidating than being approached. But to Hitoka it feels as if Kei is exuding a certain pride, as if what he is achieving is somehow worth more, being able to fight as well as heal.

When Hitoka shared her concerns with Asahi it was in near panic over the idea that someone might ask her to learn with the field healers in order to complete her training. She had crossed _'train to fight'_ off her list for a good reason.

But Asahi had reassured her, simply said, “You won't have to if you don't want to. And I'd rather you not.”

That had calmed Hitoka a little, but she still wondered if there was maybe more to his words.

It wasn't until much later when Hitoka found out, when Noya spilled the secret while sharing stories over wine and the crackling sounds of fire at night. His eyes were bright and his voice proud when he told Hitoka how Asahi and he had been out there together, having each other's back in grim places and fighting nasty creatures. It was a time Asahi wouldn't speak of on his own accord, but when Noya asked him outright that night he said that he didn't regret those past experiences.

But he doesn't take pride in his background either, at least not in the sense of placing one above the other. And this is what separates how Hitoka feels around him from how she feels around Kei.

After some prodding from both Noya and Tanaka later, Asahi had wound a hand around the back of his neck in a flustered gesture and admitted that there were times when he missed the rush of strength and control he used to get from winning a fight, from standing strong and defending himself and his team.

Hitoka had listened, tried to picture Asahi, the gentle giant, on a battlefield. It seemed an impossibility at first, but when she remembered how scared she had once been of him she could see it clearly. It was a truly terrifying image.

For a brief moment Hitoka wondered what had made Asahi change his mind, whether it had been the same cowardice that frightened her which had made him avoid the battlefield. But Asahi was more than capable of standing strong in a fight. His explanation was of a different kind, unexpected and yet fitting to his calm nature. Asahi believed, was utmost convinced, that the hands that healed should not have been the same hands that dealt the damage, even when it was vile creatures they were up against.

So whenever he’d miss the past he’d go to the training grounds; he did so quite often, to burn off the need and energy there. But he would not go back to the path he had been on, and his heart was with the art of healing.

Hitoka listened intently, and she understood, and her respect for Asahi only grew.

Time passes, and Hitoka keeps learning, keeps improving.

“I think you're ready,” Asahi tells her one day, with one of those flustered smiles on his face. “Next time you will be the one in charge, and I shall remain in the background if you need me.”

Hitoka might have let out an undignified squeak of excitement mixed with the dread of responsibility, but she bows deeply and promises to give it her best.

And when not much later Daichi and Kei bring two battered looking and unconscious strangers with them it takes all of Hitoka's self control to not get overwhelmed by panic. Countless outcomes and causes to this situation are already flooding her mind.

One of the strangers has hair bathed in starlight, and the other wears light skinned freckles on his cheeks as if Elbereth herself kissed him.

“We are going to take care of you,” she tells them softly, because even if they can't hear her right now she knows that it's always worth a try.

Asahi's hand is on her shoulder, steady and reassuring. “Just remember what I taught you. Focus, get an idea of the big picture, find out what needs treatment. Vitality is of utmost importance, all else can be taken care of in time.”

Hitoka closes her eyes as she places her hand on the silver haired elf's chest, listens deeply, listens carefully.

“He is weak,” she murmurs, then she jolts back as if she had been burnt. “Asahi, he... Is he--?”

Asahi places his hand next to hers, closes his eyes in concentration. Then he shakes his head slightly. “He is still there somewhere,” he says, calmly, referring to the emptiness Hitoka had felt when reaching out with her mind. “His mind is guarded. But his body's wounds aren't deep, he will heal. The rest he has to do himself.”

Hitoka swallows, tries not to think about what might have caused this stranger to close himself off and hide within himself.

Instead she moves on to the star kissed elf next to him. His skin is too warm to the touch, his heartbeat too quick and fluttering, his breathing too shallow and laboured. “He is in a lot of pain, the poison is burning through him,” Hitoka says. “He needs help first.”

She hesitates then.

“What are you thinking?” Asahi prompts.

“Just that... I would like to keep them in separate rooms,” Hitoka begins. _'So that one won't hear the other scream when I clean his wounds,'_ she doesn't say out loud, but Asahi understands, nods in agreement.

“You start here with the younger one, I will take care of this one in the meantime,” Asahi just says and picks up the silver haired elf easily, carries him away and out of sight.

The door closes and Hitoka takes another deep breath; she is still scared, on some level she always is. But Asahi trusts her, is ever calm. So she begins to collect what she needs.

There are tools she sets aside, ready to be used if needed. There is fresh water and pads to clean the wounds, cloth drenched in vinegar to fend off the fever, chamomile tincture to allow for soothing sleep, and a thick ointment made from poppy seeds to ease away the worst pain.

“You have to be strong now,” she tells the boy softly, and when Hitoka sets to work, chanting a prayer as she does so, he lets out an anguished groan. Faintly Hitoka wonders if she will ever get used to the feeling of having to hurt someone in order to get them better.

“ _Kou..._ ” the boy calls out weakly, face wincing around the sound. Then he is still again.

Hitoka swallows roughly, tries to keep her hands steady and her mind calm. The only comfort she can try to exude is in thinking that as long as he has the strength to utter his agony then there is still time to save him.

 

* * *

 

Tadashi is surrounded by darkness. He is floating, but not in the nice way he is floating when bathing in the small lake near their home. There is something suffocating about it now, without any sense of direction.

_Maybe the darkness will go away when I open my eyes?_

But when he tries nothing changes. He can't see a thing. There is a faint sense of pain somewhere, pulling him away, pulling him forward, tearing at his leg and ripping through his body.

_Make it stop... Make it stop, please. I'm scared._

He tries to twist away from the pain but his muscles don't seem to follow his command. There are voices, distant and low. Shadows are moving along with them, chasing through the darkness and anchoring him with their whispers and chanting.

Then there is more pain. Tadashi screams.

_Kou, where are you? Why are they hurting me?_

But his brother isn't there, can't hear him. And Tadashi is once again swallowed up by darkness and floats, drifts, is lost and alone.

When Tadashi sees again he watches as his breath leaves his mouth in strange patterns. It's odd. Maybe winter has come early this year.

The scene shifts.

Trees.

There are trees. Tadashi knows these trees, has climbed them often enough in the nearby forest of their home. He remembers joy, the sound of laughter.

_Ah.... So that's where I am? Home?_

But this isn't right. The trees are dead. Burnt black from a fire long extinct. And where is everyone? A seagull's cry rings shrill in Tadashi's ears. Panic rises in his chest.

_Have they left me behind?_

Tadashi looks down at his hands. The others would never leave him... They just wouldn't. Kou would never leave him. He had promised...

But he looks more closely then and there is blood smeared across his fingers. His own, perhaps, mingling with–

And then, without a warning, pain hits him again, in endless waves, engulfs him until Tadashi drowns and the world goes dark before him as he falls and sinks and forgets everything.

Somewhere, in the far distance, Tadashi thinks he can make out a light.

Stars.

Stars and a gentle voice, soothing him in his agony. He tries to reach out, but he can't, just can't, is too weak. And when he tries he slips away into nothingness once more.

Time is a strange concept to Tadashi. There are moments of clarity, or so he wants to believe, even though none of it makes any sense. He is floating. Or maybe... maybe he is running.

Escaping.

Escaping from claws and teeth and terrible sounds. They are chasing him. It is his old nightmare all over again. Tadashi tries to run, but he cannot move and it is driving him insane as he breathes deeply, heavily, until the world spins around him.

He tries to hum, tries to recall the lines of the song his brother would sing to him in the long nights when he can't find rest. But he is so tired, so very exhausted; he can no longer think. And when Tadashi falls he doesn't get up.

Something big hovers above him, but Tadashi is too tired to even try and escape. So he lets the despair swallow him up again.

_Kou, why won't you sing for me?_

But his brother is still not there.

Instead the voices are back, and this time they haven't brought pain with them. Maybe pain has decided to stay away today, Tadashi thinks to himself. And somehow, everything seems less dark, too.

That is when Tadashi begins to listen, and he realises that the voices sound friendly.

He blinks his eyes open, but the sudden brightness brings on a different kind of pain and Tadashi flinches and groans, shutting his eyes tightly again.

“Shh, it's fine,” someone tells him and there are soft hands on his forehead. “You're hurt. You are getting stronger, but you still need our help. Lay still.”

Tadashi relaxes in an instant without even questioning his actions. He begins to listen.

“Would you like me to stay?” another voice asks. It sounds deeper but it is just as soft as the first one.

“If you don't mind... I'm not sure I can hold him if he wakes again and tries to move.”

Then there is the sound of rustling fabric. A splash of water. Tadashi faintly wonders why they would have to hold him. He finds that he is too worn out to care. The voices are friendly, they wouldn't hurt him, would they? Maybe they could tell him where Kou was.

Tadashi feels a rasping sound leave his chest when he tries to ask them.

There is the touch of a cold cloth against his forehead. “Your brother is here, he's alive, don't worry.”

Tadashi's eyes attempt to flutter open once more.

“Shh,” the person – a girl, Tadashi realises belatedly – tells him again.

He blinks and this time it doesn't hurt. There are stars again. They are woven into blonde locks of hair, faintly reflecting light. Tadashi tries to piece together fragmented parts of a memory, of a dream perhaps, and then suddenly he knows.

The girl with the stars has been by his side all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (don't try any of this at home without parental supervision)


	3. Stagnation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For everyone around Daichi life either seems to move forward, or at least in a certain direction. But he remains stuck, remains searching for something he can't even name. And while the fact that he can't figure it out is bothersome, it's also not exactly a new revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a big thank you goes to [Maka](http://makariaartsabout.tumblr.com/) for taking the time and patience to beta this for me. This fic wouldn't be what it is without you!
> 
> (More explanations about elvish words which pop up here and there will at the end of the chapter since I don't know how to make them clickable footnotes)

Daichi has always been the reliable one, the one who remained calm and constant even when others wouldn't. He has been told this many times in his life. People call him steadfast and solid, rooted in the soil; a foundation to build on, a base line to always come back to.

Most days these words are a compliment, admiration of those who wish to be like him or who praise him for what comes to him like second nature, and Daichi's chest swells with pride.

But some days all Daichi hears is _stagnation_.

For everyone around Daichi life either seems to move forward, or at least in a certain direction. But he remains stuck, remains searching for something he can't even name. And while the fact that he can't figure it out is bothersome, it's also not exactly a new revelation.

He has been stagnant for too long now. How ironic.

In the past Daichi tried to pay close attention to what others did, to what might’ve been different about their ways compared to his. Asahi, his closest friend since childhood, suggested poetry to try and find a solution after Daichi had one day come to him to vent. But it was no good and even after hours spent in the library nothing made sense. Just as Daichi had suspected.

Asahi patted his arm with a sympathetic smile that made Daichi groan out loud and flee to the training grounds to burn off energy.

He found himself face to face with Yui there.

“Brother dear,” she acknowledged him with a grim smile.

“Sister dear.” Daichi nodded back at her. Even though neither of them said so, they both knew that they were there for the same reason, to find distraction. They had always been too similar.

For a while it was enough to exhaust himself by mindlessly testing his own strength. And Daichi discovered that this was something he could become good at if he put his mind to learning tactics and technique. So he and his sister both trained to become members of the guard, learned and improved almost on instinct once the decision was made.

“Not fair,” Yui panted on the ground where he had her pinned down. “You practised in secret, just admit it! Plus, you've gotten _heavy_.”

“What?!” Daichi let his focus shift for the mere blink of an eye and regretted it immediately when his sister kicked him hard for revenge. She was laughing, ducking away from under him as he curled away, and suddenly it was him who had lost the fight.

“You keep making that same mistake, Daichi,” she chided as they walked back home together.

“I will train harder, and then I will defeat you,” he told her, grumbling and decidedly not looking at her. “Besides, telling them that they are fat won't work on orcs.”

“Sure sure, I still--” Yui was laughing and Daichi cut off her next words by humming loudly and clapping his hand over her mouth, already knowing what would come next. Yui loved telling him that she was born seven minutes before him and that she intended on winning each and every of their childish little contests the same way.

From then on, Daichi trained with Asahi instead. He would show Yui who was the stronger one.

When Yui asked him if he was trying to get rid of her Daichi was confused and told her to stop acting like an idiot. There was no way Asahi could replace Yui in his life. Asahi was completely useless when it came to fun activities like sneaking into the kitchens and stealing sweets and snacks. When Daichi told Yui this she just clung to him in a tight hug and _that_ reaction was even more confusing than her preceding accusations. But it was better than having Yui be mad at him, so Daichi didn’t complain.

It was Yui who got admitted into the guard before Daichi, and it was also Yui who was first granted to lead her own little team to the surrounding terrain of their home.

Daichi wanted to begrudge her the honour, out of principle, but he couldn't. Not when he saw her open and honest smile that day, and not when he was so very proud of his sister for having achieved her goal. He still punched her arm when she mouthed a quiet, “I told you so,” at him, but he caught her in a rib crushing hug right after.

Yui's team had never been of importance; they weren't especially strong, but it never seemed to trouble her too much, at least not in a way that made it appear so. Until she came to Daichi one day, and he only had to look at her to _know_ , to sense that something wasn't quite right.

There had been an accident during her watch shift, someone had gotten injured. Yui blamed herself, said she had allowed their team too much slack, that she had failed to utilise their potential. Her voice was thick with frustration when she admitted that she had no idea how to change any of it.

“Improvement won't happen if you don't believe that it will,” was what Daichi told her. And she seemed to understand his meaning, possessing the same stubbornness as him when putting her mind to tasks. He sat with her by the fire for a long time that night, simply sharing a comfortable silence, and he liked to think that it helped.

Of course, it didn't get easier for Yui or her team right away, but there was a potential for improvement. So Daichi didn't feel guilty when he got momentarily distracted by forming his own team when he was granted leadership.

As much as Daichi disliked to admit this, his team wouldn't have come together the way it did if it wasn't for Asahi.

For reasons that largely remained a mystery to Daichi, the timid and somewhat sentimental Asahi had befriended two of the loudest and most free-spirited messengers who regularly travelled back and forth between Imladris and Lindon. They were a peculiar pair, Noya and Tanaka. But Daichi recognised potential when he saw it.

Daichi also recognised Asahi's distraction as infatuation, and he just chuckled and slapped Asahi's back whenever the big idiot would space out and blush furiously when called out on it.

But, Daichi thought, Asahi must have done something right with his poems and letters containing detailed descriptions of flowers and the sound of rain and whatever else he was filling his lines with. Because the next time they dropped by on their usual route Tanaka was deftly pushing Noya forward and Noya hurled himself into Asahi's arms with enthusiasm. Daichi laughed and swore to himself that he would never let Asahi live down the ridiculous look on his face when Noya peppered him with kisses.

Tanaka and Noya both stayed with them from then on, and it didn't take long until they had trained themselves up enough to be useful out in the wild. And so, together with Asahi, they formed a small team of guards, with Daichi as their leader.

They found their groove, worked together seamlessly, disrupted only by a short lasting falling-out between Noya and Asahi because the big oaf felt conflicted about his own strength. When Asahi returned it was for a limited time and he brought a younger field healer named Kei to the team.

At last Asahi withdrew completely for Kei's favour and their team's dynamics changed, but it wasn't a challenge they couldn't master. Kei could be troublesome at times and had difficulties adjusting and fitting in at first. But the most important part had remained the same; they were still a team, and Kei was skilled and clever in ways they all benefited from.

But they were all used to it by now; it became normal.

 _Stagnation_ , Daichi thinks restlessly when he realises just how normal everything feels.

His mind is spinning because he _knows_ he should be happy with how things have turned out. And yet, there is the ever nagging little voice in the back of his mind telling him that there is something missing. But he still can't put his finger on it, and so he aimlessly works as hard as ever.

Until something unexpected happens, and Daichi finds himself making a decision that would change his life around, at least for a little while.

New people arriving in Imladris is nothing out of the ordinary; most of them come and go as they please and nobody is terribly bothered by visitors. But usually, they are walking on their own and usually, they haven't been hunted down by wolf riders before their arrival.

Daichi is fidgeting, pacing the hallways. He has entrusted the two strangers into Asahi's and Hitoka's care just a few days ago and he already feels himself growing more and more impatient to receive news from the two healers. His next watch is starting soon and he’d like to find out more about who he has brought to their home before he needs to leave again.

“Daichi?” a small voice calls out for him.

He immediately halts in his motion. “Yes, Hitoka?”

“I just--” the girl interrupts herself when he turns to look at her, flinching slightly and then smiling down at the floor between them. “You asked to be informed if there is... If anything changes. Uhm. I think that maybe, the older one of them might be waking up soon?”

“He is?!”

“Ah... uhm. Yes?” Hitoka squeaks and jumps aside when Daichi storms past her and down the hallway.

“Thank you!” he calls over his shoulder, hearing her flustered laugh just before he reaches the stairway that leads to the healing quarters.

Daichi finds the room without trouble. The warm light of autumn is flooding in through the windows, tinting the walls golden. Daichi leaves the door open and walks towards the bed on which the silver haired elf is still sleeping.

For a while Daichi simply watches, takes in details he hadn't noticed before. The stranger's chest is rising and falling with slow and even breath. He has handsome features despite the dark shadows under his eyes, that much Daichi has to admit. Clean bandages are covering the side of the elf's forehead, reaching down to the outer edge of his eyebrow, and just below it Daichi can spot a birthmark in contrast to fair skin.

The stranger is stirring, just a slight turn of his head and a rattling intake of breath. Daichi watches him closely, hears the door click shut behind him when Hitoka joins them.

“He'll need to drink this,” Hitoka says and places a steaming mug on a small table beside the bed. “I thought, perhaps, when you're still here then, you could... ah, help me sit him up once he's awake?”

Daichi regards her and is just about to answer when she stutters on, “Ah, I'm sorry, I was overstepping... I shall fetch one of the healers for help, this was inappropriate of me to ask from you--”

“I'll help you,” Daichi reassures before she can flee the room and he tries to smile in a way that won't intimidate her further. It feels like he succeeded because her shoulders visibly relax when he adds, “I don't mind helping.”

Hitoka nods a silent thank you at him and leans over to peel away the covers from the stranger's chest.

Daichi stares, and winces. The elf before him seems completely starved from his journey. His ribs and collarbones are clearly visible under translucent skin, revealed by the wide collar of the loose shirt he had been dressed in. Daichi can see scratches and bruises disappearing under the fabric, some faint and some fresh.

“What happened to his shoulder?” Daichi asks and points at the brace.

“I appears to be dislocated. The brace is just to help keep it in place. It should be fine again within a few weeks' time.”

 _A few weeks..._ Daichi swallows roughly. He reaches out with his mind and is met with recoiling silence. “Is he in pain?”

“Not physically, no. At least he shouldn't be,” Hitoka begins, but then the stranger's eyes flutter open and blink into focus. He looks startled, his hands twitch as his breathing grows shallow and his neck strains. Instead of silence Daichi can clearly sense his fear now.

“It's all right, we won't harm you,” he tells him in what he hopes is his gentle voice.

“You're in Imladris, I'm Hitoka and this is Daichi,” Hitoka adds with a nod. “We are here to take care of you.”

The elf looks back and forth between their faces. Then something almost like resignation settles on his features and he sinks back against the pillow.

“Tadashi,” he rasps out. “Where is my brother? I need to--”

“Brother?” Daichi cuts in, confused. “You mean the freckled boy who was with you?”

The elf nods again.

“You don't look anything alike,” Daichi remarks, quirking up an eyebrow.

“We're ... not brothers ... by birth.” Speaking seems to cause the elf trouble, every breath comes heavily and his voice is rough.

“Your brother is here, too, just a few rooms away,” Hitoka already says and Daichi watches as open relief washes over the stranger's face.

“I want to … see him.”

“You will, but you are too weak right now,” Hitoka tells him. “You need to eat and drink first, and sleep some more. You can see your brother when you're stronger. I brought medicine for you, will you drink it when we help you sit up?”

The silver haired elf nods and Daichi is fascinated by how much of a calming effect Hitoka's voice seems to have. He almost envies her, but he knows that he has always been better at commanding and encouraging than at being calming with his voice.

“Daichi?” Hitoka prompts.

“Ah, yes. How should I...?” Daichi asks, belatedly realising that he is clueless on how to handle an injured person outside of battle fields.

Hitoka motions for him to sit at the edge of the bed. She tugs at the pillow lightly. “Here, help me move him up a bit,” she directs. “Yes, good. And now put your arm behind his shoulders. Uh-huh, like that. Let him lean against your chest and be careful he won't slip.”

Daichi does as he is told, supporting the elf's weight without trouble, keeping him upright by winding his arms around his torso.

Hitoka moves to retrieve the cup of medicine, or tea, or whatever it is, which she has brought.

“So,” Daichi says over the elf's shoulder when he was certain that he was resting more or less comfortably. “Who are you, actually?”

“Sugawara,” the stranger says. “My name's Sugawara.”

Hitoka blinks up at him. “An _epessë_?”

Sugawara shakes his head. “Why do you ask?”

“Ah, uhm...” Hitoka begins nervously while stirring the mug's contents. “Your brother was talking in his sleep, calling for _Kou_. I had assumed he must be meaning you. I'm sorry, I was mistaken.”

“You weren't,” Sugawara says quietly. “It's what... He calls me that. He and...” but his voice trailed off then.

Daichi looks at Hitoka, but she just lifts the drink to Sugawara's lips, supporting the back of his head with her other hand when tipping the mug. He drinks the first sip, coughs lightly, but then he leans forward for more.

“Ah,” Sugawara sighs after another sip and slumps back against Daichi. “That was good, thank you.”

Hitoka smiles approvingly.

But Daichi's mind is spinning. He wants to know more now. A pair of mysterious strangers with questionable names, half-dead when attacked, saying they were brothers in some way, but giving no further information about themselves? Maybe Tanaka and Noya have been right about the strangers being suspicious. Daichi would rather find out sooner than later.

He watches as Hitoka helps Sugawara empty the cup completely. Daichi has no idea how healers muster such endless patience when tending to people and getting them to recover. He prefers a much faster pace.

“Say, Sugawara,” he starts. “What brought you to these lands?”

Sugawara shakes his head lightly again. “We fled.”

“Fled from who? Where are you coming from?”

“Daichi,” Hitoka says softly. “I'm not sure this is the right time for questioning.”

“I brought him here, I'm responsible for whoever he is. I'm certain anyone would agree with me being careful, especially given as almost our entire people has been fooled into trusting the innocent looking ones when--”

“Daichi,” Hitoka cuts in quietly, and there is the rare hint of authority in her voice now despite her gentle tone. “Sugawara's under my charge right now, and I would kindly ask you not to upset him while he's in my care.”

Daichi blinks at her as he is reminded that the healing quarters aren't his place to give commands. Then something wet is dripping onto the forearm he has slung across Sugawara's now trembling chest.

 _Tears,_ Daichi realises and confusion mixes with dread as he looks down.

“That's not what I--”

“Don't worry,” Sugawara interrupts him in a toneless voice. “I won't cause you any more trouble. I just want Tadashi to be safe. We'll leave again as soon as you need us to.”

Daichi sighs. This conversation was definitely not going as planned. He shakes his head. “Well, for now you're staying here.”

Hitoka looks at him with the same troubled glance as before. Has he said the wrong thing again?

“I need to leave. Border watch. I'll just...” Daichi trails off and busies himself with lowering Sugawara back down onto his pillow.

Hitoka tugs the covers back up around his chest.

“Hitoka, a word, if you will, please?” Daichi requests. “And Sugawara. I expect to talk to you when I return.”

Sugawara's hazel eyes meet Daichi's, blank and guarded and _hurt_. It is an image that Daichi is certain would haunt him for days and gnaw at his insides with guilt. But he can't think about that now, there is something else he has to take care of before he can go and collect his team for yet another week out there.

“What is the matter, Daichi?” Hitoka asks quietly when they are in the hallway and the door to Sugawara's room is shut behind them.

Daichi isn't used to not knowing what to do and he blames it on being stuck in a routine. But now, this is new. Exciting even, in some twisted way Daichi wouldn't admit to out loud. And Daichi has already thought of a plan, or rather a vague idea of what might work in this situation, but he isn't exactly sure how to phrase his request. “You get scared easily, right?”

Hitoka nods, looking unsure of herself.

“Good,” Daichi says. “So these two, Sugawara and his brother Tadashi. You will tell me if anything about them feels off, right?”

Realisation grows in Hitoka's eyes. “Daichi, are you... Are you saying you want to determine how dangerous they are depending on how much they scare me?”

“Something like that, yes,” Daichi admits, wraps his hand around the back of his neck and inwardly curses himself for copying Asahi’s gestures. “It's our best shot since Sugawara is obviously not in the mood to talk, and I have no intentions of upsetting him again. Your naturally careful attitude will be of great help here.”

“But what if I'm wrong?!”

“I trust your judgement,” Daichi says simply and honestly, and decides to ignore the wave of panic he can feel rising from Hitoka. “Oh and, Hitoka? Can you tell Shimada blue and silver? I'll come by and pick it up after this shift, if he's not too busy until then.”

Hitoka nods again, and with that Daichi turns to leave. He hurries to his room, grabs paper and quill and rushes to write a letter before he has to leave again.

 _'Dearest Kiyoko, dear Chikara,'_ he begins to scribble the message to his friends. _'I have news to tell.'_

* * *

When Koushi wakes up again he feels rested for the first time in what seems like forever. He thinks back, but there are no dreams or nightmares, at least none which he can recall. Whatever it was the blond girl (Hitoka, he reminds himself of her name) has given him to drink seems to be working.

Koushi blinks at the ceiling and listens to the faint sound of birds singing outside. Judging by the light it must be past noon already.

Koushi feels on edge.

It's a severely disorienting sensation to not know which day it is or where exactly he even is. Tadashi must be here, too, somewhere. Just a few rooms away, wasn't that what Hitoka had promised? Well, that distance clearly needs to be bridged somehow because Koushi is desperate to see his brother and make sure he's alright.

Koushi tries to move and curses softly when he remembers that his right arm is caught in a sling, the shoulder fixed to his body by a tight brace. He manages to slip the covers off himself with his one free arm and shivers at the sudden tinge of air, cold in contrast to the warm nest of blankets he'd been sleeping under. The thin shirt and trousers he is dressed in apparently are not enough to keep him warm for long.

Suddenly Koushi remembers a different warmth, radiating off a sturdy chest he has been leaning against. It's a bit blurry, though, but at least Koushi hasn't categorised the encounter as a threat, despite remembering harsh sounding words. _Daichi_ , he thinks, yes, that was his name. And he was a member of the guard? Probably higher in position even. At least judging by Daichi's tone of voice, commanding with a natural authority and confidence, Koushi would expect him to be one of high rank.

Koushi tries to think harder. He can recall a face, dark eyes and dark hair, serious but friendly enough. He remembers accusations and Hitoka stepping up for him. Koushi remembers spilling exhausted tears and his face heats up with embarrassment.

“Oh, you're awake!” Hitoka's voice interrupts Koushi's musing. How long has she been there?

Koushi tries to sit up, but it's more challenging than fighting off blankets. He lets a soft whining sound rush past his lips when pain pounds in his head, pulsing under his bandages.

Hitoka rushes forward; there was a sound of something heavy being set down on the table, and then her hands gently guide Koushi into a sitting position and prop him up with pillows against the headboard. By the time he is seated Koushi is out of breath. How annoying. This needs to change. Fast.

“I brought food for you.”

“I'm not hungry,” Koushi says, and it's kind of true. Knowing his body needs food and having an appetite are two very different things.

Hitoka smiles at him mildly. “Not even when I tell you that Tadashi woke up today?”

“Tadashi!” Koushi all but shouts at her, or tries to since his voice is still too dry and raspy for any actual volume. “Where is he? Can I see him? Is he all right?!” Only belatedly he realises that even the weak raise in his voice seems to startle Hitoka. The pounding in his head gets stronger, but Koushi ignores it.

“He's recovering,” Hitoka tells him. “But I need you to eat and drink, and sleep some more, before you can see him.”

“How long?”

“Until you can stand up on your own. You need food to get better.”

Damn those healers and their motivation tricks. “ _Fine_ , I guess I can eat,” Koushi says and feels like a petulant child. Hitoka laughs nervously.

There is some kind of broth, and Koushi tries his best to not splash it all over the sheets with his unsteady left hand as he begins to spoon it into his mouth. And _oh!_ Oh, food is actually a wonderful, amazing, miraculous thing. How had he ever thought he was not hungry?

“C-careful,” Hitoka stammers and tries to slow him down. “You are going to make yourself sick if you eat too fast.”

Koushi almost lets out a hiss at her when she holds his wrist steady, afraid she will take his spoon. But she is only steadying him and leading his hand to his mouth.

 _Eating is exhausting,_ Koushi realises when his bowl is empty and his breath coming a bit fast as if he had just hurried somewhere. Hitoka presses a mug into his hand and says something about it being a sleeping draught. Koushi drinks it without thinking twice.

“I have to go now, and you should sleep. I'll bring you more food tomorrow,” Hitoka promises softly, and she helps Koushi scoot back down to rest. Sleep does sound like a good idea. “I think we can take off your bandage tomorrow as well, the wound on your head should have mostly healed by now.”

Koushi blinks at her. How long had he been unconscious? But then again, he is rather clueless about how long wounds took to heal. His thoughts are a jumbled mess.

“Tomorrow...” Koushi echoes after her and can already feel himself drifting off.

The next day, Koushi manages to sit up on his own. It takes him a few tries and there is cold sweat on his forehead by the time he succeeds, but he's stubborn.

Every day that passes Hitoka keeps promising Koushi something to look forward to. First, the bandage around his head comes off, then she asks about his favourite sweets and brings them the next day. The day after she offers the prospect of a hairbrush if Koushi will be careful and not scrape open his scabs with it.

Koushi hates how easily he is bribed with little things, but Hitoka's tactic is working on him and she manages to keep his impatience at bay before she finally, _finally_ offers him what he really wants.

“Tomorrow,” she begins as she always would, “I'll send for help so that you can see Tadashi.”

Koushi wants to hug her with gratitude, but he doesn’t and just smiles wide and nods and takes the sleeping draught she offers. Sleep will make tomorrow happen faster.

When Koushi wakes up again he is alone, but it doesn't take long until he hears the timid knock on the door. How odd. Hitoka normally has both arms full when she drops by so she never knocks.

“Hitoka?” Koushi asks but when the door opens it isn't Hitoka he sees. At least that explains the knocking.

“Not quite,” the elf chuckles. “I'm Asahi. It's good to see you awake and recovering, Sugawara.”

Koushi can't help but stare. Asahi is... impressive. Though Koushi has never before seen anyone built so tall and broad who at the same time seemed like he tried hard to appear small. And, _by the Eagles of Manwe_ , is that a beard? Koushi can’t even remember when he has last seen an elf with a beard. When he visited Lindon as a child, perhaps. Asahi must be ancient, Koushi thinks faintly.

“What do you mean? Have we met before?” He asks quickly to distract himself.

Asahi wraps his hand around the back of his neck as he steps closer. “Ah, I stitched you up when you were brought in,” he says. “I'm one of the healers here, Hitoka works with me.”

_Oh!_

Koushi begins to stammer gratitude but Asahi waves him off. “You should thank Hitoka instead.”

Koushi will, he certainly will. But thinking of Hitoka reminds him of her promise. “She said that I could see my brother today. That she would send for help?”

Asahi lets out another flustered sounding chuckle. “Ah, yes, that would be me.”

Koushi just gapes at him, closing his mouth to do anything-other-than-loudly-protest when realisation dawns on him when he looks at how Asahi reaches for him with both arms.

In hindsight, Koushi should have asked why Hitoka needed help to lead him to Tadashi's room. He doesn't even know _what_ he has expected, but apparently not this. Koushi blinks again as if it would somehow make things better.

_There is no way he would let himself be carried._

Before Asahi can come any closer Koushi pushes himself into a standing position. He takes in a deep breath and prays for the room to stop spinning. It does, after a while, and Koushi glowers at Asahi who is hovering close by. Koushi takes a step forward, and then another. He would feel elated at the victory of walking on his own two legs if it wasn't for the feeling of his breath coming too fast and the weakness in his knees that tells him his legs are just short of giving away under him. And why did balancing have to be so difficult with his arm caught in that damn brace? Koushi managed to walk to the window and back yesterday, so he knows it’s not impossible.

“Careful,” Asahi murmurs and catches Koushi safely, picking him up as effortlessly as if Koushi weighs nothing at all.

Koushi pouts, but doesn't protest, is too busy focusing on his breathing pattern to slow down. Asahi would probably ignore it anyway if Koushi tried as much as struggle free.

Asahi leaves the room with Koushi in his arms and carries him down the hallway. Instead of thinking about how outright ridiculous this situation is Koushi takes a closer look at Asahi. He wasn't mistaken, that is definitely a beard growing on Asahi's chin. But when Koushi looks at his eyes they are much younger than expected. How strange. At first glance Koushi really wouldn't have thought Asahi to be what is probably barely twice his own age, a couple hundred years at best.

Before he can wonder any more Asahi pushes open a door and steps inside the room.

“Kou!” a faint voice greets them.

“Tadashi,” Koushi whispers back, hardly noticing how Asahi sets him down at the edge of his brother's bed.

Tadashi looks terrible. Too thin, worn-out, emaciated. But he is smiling, and that's all Koushi needs to see. There is heavy relief washing through Koushi, spilling out as frantic tears as he reaches out and smooths Tadashi's hair from his forehead.

“Thank _Eru_ , you're safe,” Koushi half-sobs and buries his face in against Tadashi's shoulder. “It'll all be fine now, Tadashi, I promise, you'll get better and then we will-”

“I know,” Tadashi interrupts him and wraps his arms around Koushi's head. Koushi can feel moisture clinging to the corners of Tadashi's eyes when his fingertips brush against them, but his voice is thick with trust and happiness. “I'm not scared when you're here. You’re always going to take care of me, Kou, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Asahi is probably comfier than a wheelchair)
> 
>  _epessë_ \- elvish equivalent of a nickname or honorary title


	4. Many Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Koushi thinks that if he has to come up with one reason why Imladris is called a Homely House, he would pick the Hall of Fire to make his point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, many thanks to [Maka](http://makariaartsabout.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing and general support :]  
> Yes, this chapter's title is nerd lvl 97. I couldn't help it. 
> 
> Also, a big thank you to [Kelsi](http://brazenbells.tumblr.com/) for nudging me with moonflowers, the symbolism _dreams of love_ was too perfect not to use it. Have a hair scene dedicated to you, you'll know which one ;)
> 
> This chapter contains a lot of loud elves, non-sexual acts of intimacy, extremely liberal use of elvish song magic, one physically impaired character, and some general angst.

 

_ Recovery _ , what a strange word. To Koushi it sounds like an attempt of bringing something back that was lost. He wishes he could simply move on instead.

Koushi needs less sleep now, is less dependant on help, and even the dull ache in his head is slowly dissipating. Being reassured of Tadashi's healing process certainly does its part in helping Koushi to clear his mind.

But a clear mind means that other things are pushing their way into his conscience now. For a while, Koushi and Tadashi are safe here. But there are things they need to discuss… Options, decisions,  _ something _ Tadashi doesn't even know yet because Koushi hasn't had the courage to bring it up.

Being afraid of possibly getting separated from his brother is one thing. But knowing that it would be Koushi's own doing takes the fear and guilt to a whole new level.

_ 'You're always going to take care of me, Kou, right?' _ he still hears Tadashi's faint voice.

No, letting Tadashi down is not an option. Not ever.

And now the letters Koushi has received are lost in the fire for good. So putting off any decisions about what to do next is an option Koushi indulges in very willingly.

Koushi is free to walk around within the healing quarters, though he spends most of his waking hours with Tadashi. Getting stronger is a plan that's working out surprisingly well ever since Koushi started eating proper food at regular intervals. And being able to eat together with Tadashi in his room helps to boost his appetite.

Tadashi isn't recovering as fast as Koushi is, that much is obvious from the healer's still worried glances whenever they change his bandages. But the worst seems to have been overcome. Hitoka and Asahi let Koushi stay in the room while tending to Tadashi's wounds, and he often hears them murmur words while at work, too soft to be clearly audible.

They had both reacted flustered to his questions but eventually told Koushi that they were praying to the Valar, using ancient enchantments to help the healing.

Koushi just watches in fascination. And whatever it is they do seems to be working. Tadashi is not allowed to get out of bed yet, but he smiles, and Koushi notices him listening intently when Hitoka tells him about the different herbs she uses for his tea.

Koushi doesn't dare ask Hitoka or Asahi how long they will let them stay. He is well aware that he owes his and Tadashi's lives to Daichi and his team, is aware of how much at Daichi's mercy they are. Koushi doesn't expect mercy, not after he heard the mistrust in Daichi's voice. But there's nothing that can be done about that now; all Koushi can do is hope that Daichi is someone who would try to do the right thing, the proper thing, following rules that grant the benefit of doubt. And Daichi hadn't sounded like someone to act cruel when upset, despite his harsh words.

But Daichi isn't back yet. Koushi has no clue how long watch shifts last, but he assumes that it can't be more than a handful of days now until Daichi returns. Well, Koushi would use that time to find out as much about this place as he can. Hitoka and Asahi both prove to be useful sources of information during their daily visits, are willing to tell him some more about the team Daichi leads.

“Not long now--,” Asahi says one evening when he comes to check up on them in Tadashi's room. But a tapping sound from the window interrupts him.

“Ah, tomorrow then,” Asahi smiles and moves to let in the corvid that's been rapping against the glass with its beak.

“There you are, Crow,” he murmurs when the bird hops onto his forearm and begins tugging on his sleeve and burying its head in against the crease of Asahi's elbow.

“Impatient little bird, that's not where I'm hiding your feed,” and with a low chuckle Asahi reaches into his pocket and takes out a small pouch filled with nuts and seeds. He pours some onto the window sill and watches as the corvid makes a happy cawing sound and starts picking at them.

“You have a pet crow?” Tadashi asks and when Koushi looks at him his eyes are wide and excited.

“I'm not sure if she counts as pet? Crow just hangs around Noya a lot,” Asahi explains, fond smile still in place as he watches the bird. “Noya's been spoiling her ever since she was little, with treats and such, so I think she decided to stick around. It earned him some disapproving looks at first because corvids in these lands aren't known to be the best-natured of birds. But Noya is... well, you'll meet him tomorrow. He's not easily deterred once he has his mind on something.”

Koushi moves closer to the window, holds out his hand and gently lets the back of his fingers glide over the bird's dark feathers. “You call her Crow?”

Asahi puts his hand to the back of his neck in his naturally flustered manner. “Ah, yes, that's... well, Noya wanted to call her  _ Thunder, _ but uhm... that didn't work out. She only listens to  _ Crow _ .”

Tadashi starts laughing at that and Koushi bites back his own chuckle as to not further embarrass Asahi. “So, how do you know it's tomorrow?” Tadashi asks eagerly. “Does she have a secret message attached somewhere?”

“Noya sends Crow to me when they are on their way back, usually, so that I know when they'll return, since I no longer... Ah, because I'm always here now,” Asahi murmurs, cheeks flushed a deep crimson. “Anyway, as I said, you'll meet them tomorrow.”

The next morning Koushi walks to Tadashi's room to have breakfast with him like every morning.

Asahi is already there when Koushi opens the door and takes his usual spot on the edge of Tadashi's bed. Hitoka comes in not much later and tells them that she just spoke to Daichi and that they will all be here soon.

And before she can say any more the door swings open and hits the wall with a loud  _ crack _ .

“A- _ ha! _ ” someone shouts, making Hitoka and Asahi flinch. “So it's true, you did wake up again after that blow to the head!”

Koushi blinks up and finds himself face to face with the extended forefinger the newcomer is pointing at him. There is barely time to take him in - short and lithe stature, black hair with streaks of gold woven into them, worn leather armour stained with mud. But before Koushi can do or say anything the elf's attention is already shifting.

“Asahi!” he demands.

_ Eru, he is loud. _

Koushi watches in fascination as Asahi's shoulders flinch when getting slapped with enthusiasm. “Asahi, will you look at that! This one-” the short elf gestures wildly over to Tadashi “-was as pale as the sheets. Kei had totally given up, but Daichi was all  _ gah! _ and  _ bam! _ And he made us take them home and see! You did it, Asahi, I know you could save them, you're awesome!”

“A-ah.... uhm,” Asahi just makes and clearly has trouble composing his face, hands fluttering to his hair and neck. Koushi wants to laugh at how ridiculous the giant looks to be startled and overwhelmed by such a small person. “It was mostly Hitoka saving them, but tha-thanks, Noya.”

_ So  _ this _ is Noya _ , Koushi thinks as Noya beams at Hitoka and pumps his fist into the air in her general direction.

Koushi tries to get his thoughts into order. Is it true what Noya said? Have they nearly given up on saving Tadashi if it hasn't been for Daichi insisting on them trying? This put Daichi into a much brighter light.

But before Koushi can overthink this or even begin to form words of gratitude Noya turns his attention to him again. “I'm Nishinoya,” he announces, pointing a thumb at himself and smiling brightly. “But call me Noya. Everyone does. Daichi says you're Sugawara, and that you were escaping. How exciting!”

Noya's eyes positively  _ sparkle _ when he looks at Koushi. “The last time I tried to escape I got stuck in a tree, but I learned how to climb since then--” He interrupts himself to laugh. “Wow, look at you,” he exclaims then. “You were practically dead but still standing to fight when we got there. I like that! Daichi should definitely try to keep you around. You seem like you know how to have fun, maybe you can teach him a thing or two. Not that I would ever speak bad about our captain, of course, ha. Ryuu! Look!”

Noya gestures wildly once more, and then turns to another elf who had just appeared in the doorway. “He's all alive and everything!” He turns back to Koushi. “Sugawara, meet Tanaka.”

Koushi's gaze tears away from Noya and when he looks up to Tanaka it takes some effort to not flinch away. It can't be said any other way, this elf looks wild.

His head is shaved, a shadow of stubble covering his scalp, except for a broad stripe of long black hair at the top that he has bound into a braid with leather strings. The multiple piercings of his ears are adorned with teeth and claws that Koushi can only assume have once belonged to his victims from battle. To round the image off the sleeves of Tanaka's garb leave his shoulders bare, revealing strings of taut muscles and a series of scars across his tan skin.

Tanaka stares at Koushi with steel grey eyes. He suddenly bursts into joyful laughter, and his intimidating appearance immediately shifts to a friendlier nature. “You totally are alive!”

Koushi watches in confusion as Tanaka and Noya bump their fists together with matching grins on their faces. He suddenly feels like he is missing something.

“Do you think they... you know?” Hitoka is whispering next to him.

“I hope not,” Asahi whispers back. He sounds nervous.

“Daichi was really angry with them last time.”

Asahi nods with a shuddering sound. “Daichi is scary when he's angry.”

Koushi looks at Tadashi. Tadashi looks back and shrugs. Yes, they are both definitely missing something here.

But then the door opens again and the room is slowly getting a bit crowded when Daichi makes his way in, carrying some garment folded over his arm.

Koushi watches with detached fascination as the atmosphere shifts. The laughter dies out, Asahi attempts to shrink into invisibility beside Koushi and Hitoka stops breathing altogether.

“Straighten up,” Daichi barks and slaps Asahi's back. “And you two,” his voice is almost a growl, his face dark and dangerous, when he pins Noya and Tanaka down with his stare. “How many more times do I have to tell you? You are  _ not _ allowed to bet on people's lives!”

_ Oh? This just keeps getting better. _

“Daichiii! It was just--”

“I don't want to hear it,” Daichi cuts them off strictly. “Apologise to Sugawara and Tadashi. Right. Now.”

Koushi is still not quite sure what he is witnessing when Tanaka and Noya turn to him and Tadashi and bow in unison. “We're sorry!” they wail, and Noya adds a small, “I totally knew you'd make it!” before Daichi can stop him.

Then they flee the room.

“Cover your shoulders!” Daichi shouts after them. “Kei is tired of having to fix you up.”

Daichi lets out a sigh, looks down for a moment, and when he looks up again to meet Koushi's eyes his face is calm and composed. “I'm sorry for these two idiots.”

Koushi coughs to cover up his laughter. “I'm not,” he tells Daichi and notices how Asahi and Hitoka relax again. “If I understood that correctly then they are a part of the reason why Tadashi and I are alive. Nothing to be sorry about,” Koushi tries to smile but it doesn't seem to sit right on his face when he's still busy biting back the laughter that wants to bubble from his chest. “Your team seems like fun.”

“Ah, yes, well...” Daichi clears his throat, fingers wrapping around the back of his neck in a way that almost makes him look like Asahi. “If you put it like this.” He pauses for a short moment and his eyes flicker over to Hitoka. “Hm... There is also something else. I've been meaning to apologize for... for last time we spoke.”

Koushi feels his eyes grow wide. When he doesn't respond in a while Tadashi tugs at his sleeve.

“Kou?” he asks, voice full of concern. “Did something bad happen?”

Koushi shakes his head and smiles. “Not at all. I was barely conscious, so I think of it as a misunderstanding.”

“Then it doesn't matter,” Tadashi concludes. “He saved us. There is nothing he should apologise for.”

Koushi squeezes Tadashi's hand lightly before turning back to Daichi. “You heard him.”

Daichi's mouth stretches into a wide grin then. He suddenly looks very young, and more relieved than Koushi would have expected.

“Last time...” Koushi says after a moment of silence, “you said you had questions.”

“I still do,” Daichi confirms. “Though, this might not be the most comfortable place to discuss them. Actually, if you are feeling rested enough and if Hitoka will release you from her care for a while, I would like you to come eat with us tonight. We can sit in the Hall of Fire and talk there.”

Koushi looks around. Hitoka and Asahi shrug and give him a nod. “But Tadashi...?”

“It's fine, Kou. Eat for the both of us,” Tadashi says easily.

“But you'll be all alone.”

“Hitoka can keep me company,” Tadashi says logically. “Isn't that right?”

Hitoka lets out a flustered laughing sound that sounds like a confirmation.

“Well then,” Daichi says and pushes the garment he's been carrying towards Koushi. “I hope you like blue and silver, I thought it would fit with your hair.”

“I-- What?” Koushi asks and unfolds a simple light blue tunic with a silver pattern of moonflowers embroidered around the hems.

“Your clothes were ruined beyond fixing, blood stained and torn. The least I could do was have our tailor make--”

“Daichi,” Koushi interrupts, tone serious, and pushes the fabric back into Daichi's hands. “I can't take this. I have nothing to pay with for this.”

Daichi blinks at him. Then again. Then he starts laughing, a rumbling sound from deep within his chest. “What kind of a host do you think I am? It's a gift, Sugawara. Please, accept it? Unless you don't like blue, in which case I suppose we could exchange it for something else.”

Koushi blinks down at his fingers digging into the fabric. “Actually, blue is my favourite,” he mumbles eventually.

“Good,” Daichi grins and turns to leave. “I'll come fetch you at dusk.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Daichi's knock on Sugawara's door echoes loudly across the hallway. 

“It’s open, come in!”

_ Of course it’s open _ , Daichi thinks and bites back his smile when he steps inside the room. The healing quarters’ doors don’t have locks.

“You're early,” Sugawara greets him from where he is standing by the window. He is dressed in the blue tunic he has been given earlier, complete with a matching pair of light trousers and slippers that Daichi had told Asahi to get from the healer's stock. There is a scarf loosely slung around Sugawara's shoulders, covering up the brace he is still wearing, the silver fabric complimenting his hair and the tunic's embroidery.

_ Moonflowers _ . Daichi doesn't remember having specified that.

“Do you need more time? I can come back in a bit if that would be more convenient...”

But Sugawara smiles and shakes his head, looking down. “Actually...”

Daichi looks at him, follows his gaze, and then he notices the hairbrush Sugawara is holding in his left hand. “Oh!” Daichi makes. “Your shoulder. I forgot. Do you want me to...?”

Sugawara doesn't look at him, but he also doesn't tell him no, so Daichi steps closer and holds out his hand for the hairbrush.

“Tying it back one-handed is a bit... difficult,” Sugawara smiles sheepishly. “And I don't want to seem rude, walking around with unbound hair, what with the stories one hears about the Lords of this house.”

Daichi can't help but chuckle at that. Is Sugawara really concerned about stepping on anyone's toes with the way he wears his hair? It's strangely endearing.

“Well, how do you usually...?” Daichi trails off and motions for Sugawara to turn around.

“Just a simple braid.”

Daichi nods. He can do that.

They fall into a comfortable silence when Daichi untangles strands of silver hair and begins to twist them together. Sugawara's hair is even softer than it looks. But it's also a lot less cooperative than it looks. Daichi has to refrain from pulling too hard in order to make the braid stay in shape. He doesn't want to hurt Sugawara, especially not when the fading red streak at his temple reminds him of the injury that had nearly cost him his life. But single strands of hair keep escaping left and right, and Daichi has to start anew.

“You don't have to be so tender,” Sugawara tells him. “I know my hair is kinda... flighty. I'm used to it.”

“Do you use clips, or how do you tame it?”

“I kinda let it be that way,” Sugawara says with an awkward half-shrug.

“Oh.” Daichi tries to imagine it. Sugawara's hair in disarray, unruly locks of soft silver surrounding his face. It's an oddly intriguing picture that Daichi has to physically shake himself from lingering too long on.

“If my hair has a mind of its own, who am I to restrain it?” Sugawara just says lightly and Daichi can practically hear the grin in his voice, even when he's still keeping himself distant and closed off.

“That sounds like something Kuroo would say.”

“Who?”

“A friend. You'll meet him tonight. His hair is quite the natural disaster.”

Sugawara laughs. Daichi finds that making him laugh is a lot more enjoyable than making him cry.

“I...” Sugawara begins after a while, voice tentative now. Daichi pauses the motion of his fingers and listens. “I've been meaning to thank you. Not for braiding my hair or giving me something presentable to wear. Well, for that too. But for... saving us, when you didn't have to, when you didn't trust us to not be danger to your home. So, thank you, for everything.”

Daichi doesn't know what to say, so he begins to wrap a leather string around the end of the braid to hold it together. “You know, Sugawara...”

“Suga.”

“Suga, then,” Daichi smiles as he ties a firm knot. The shortened name works for him, fits better with the person it belongs to. “I won't lie to you, I've been wondering a thing or two about you and your brother, and distrust was big on my mind at first. But I talked to Hitoka today and I rely on her judgement that you and Tadashi are good people. So I thought, why spoil a beautiful night by having you re-live whatever it is you've been through? I'm sure we can find a time and place for you to tell me all I need to know, but not tonight...”

Suga turns around and blinks at him with wide eyes.

Daichi holds up his hands, appeasing. “Don't worry. I just want you to enjoy yourself while you're here. I don't know where you are headed or how long you plan on staying here. But tonight there will be music, and food, and there will be people I consider friends. Can you focus on that for a while instead of what's troubling you? I promise no harm will come to you or your brother here.”

Suga is still staring at him. His lips are moving around a soundless syllable, and then they split into a wide smile.

Daichi lets out a breath he hasn't been aware of holding. “Well, then. On to the Hall of Fire,” he says cheerfully and opens the door.

Suga steps through. He is beautiful when he smiles.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Koushi thinks that if he has to come up with one reason why Imladris is called a Homely House, he would pick the Hall of Fire to make his point.

Apart from the main hearth there are several fires lit along the walls, tinting the scene in a golden shimmer. The walls themselves are decorated with woven pictures and woodwork carved with intricate and elegant patterns. One bigger table is set at the head of the hall, presumably reserved for the Ladies and Lords of the house, and a number of smaller tables are scattered across the room. Right in the centre of the hall there is a space occupied by a group of musicians.

Koushi can't help but feel invited by this place.

Daichi turns suddenly, slaps someone's back deftly. “Hajime! I didn't know you'd be back already. Are you joining us?”

Koushi looks up and sees dark grey eyes and a frown that's quickly splitting into a grin at Daichi's greeting. “Nah, just here to give the others a heads-up. Tooru's sister is visiting, catching up is always best done in private. Takeru insists I eat with them, and you know how Tooru gets.”

Daichi laughs. “Well then, don't let them wait.”

“Wouldn't dare dream of it,” Hajime mutters and rolls his eyes at Daichi.

“Ah, there they are!” someone shouts and Koushi recognises Noya's voice. When he looks over Daichi's shoulder he sees Noya waving at them from one of the round tables.

“Speaking of letting people wait,” Hajime comments dryly. He punches Daichi's arm lightly and turns to leave.

“Hajime is one of our hunters,” Daichi explains with a sideway glance to Koushi. “He only looks grumpy, but he's a nice guy when you get to know him.”

Koushi grins at him. “So that's why you two are friends?” he teases.

Daichi chokes on his inhale and his cheeks flush as he leads Koushi through the crowd. “Ready to meet the others?”

They take their seats at one of the smaller round tables.

“You've met Tanaka and Noya already,” Daichi begins introducing them. “And this is Kei, our team's healer. Kei, you remember Sugawara?”

“I do,” the one named Kei says tersely.

Koushi looks at him, notices his impressive height despite being seated. One side of his head is shaven, revealing an inked pattern of stars and the moon reaching across his temple and curving above and around his ear. The rest of his blond hair is hanging loosely over his other shoulder in unruly locks. Kei's expression radiates disinterest and Koushi thinks that Kei looks as if he'd rather be somewhere else right now.

“Don't pay him any mind, he still needs to learn to live a little,” someone says from across the table and snickers when Kei makes an annoyed  _ tsk _ sound.

Daichi's earlier words about a ' _ natural disaster' _ come to Koushi's mind when he sees the mess of dark hair. He is met with a pair of golden eyes, the elf looking at him from across the table with an unbalanced smirk as if Koushi is prey. It's slightly unsettling, and the broad build of his shoulders doesn't do much to help either.

“Kuro, don't do that. You're so embarrassing,” an even voice says.

“Am not!” Kuroo protests and when his eyes turn to the one sitting next to him his expression softens immediately.

Koushi follows his gaze to an elf of a much smaller frame, wearing his hair tied back neatly except for two strands at either side of his face, easy straight locks held together by golden clasps.

“Are too,” he lets out an exasperated sigh.

Kuroo grins. “Am not.”

“Kuroo and Kenma,” Daichi says by way of explanation and Koushi nods at them in greeting.

“Are too,” Kenma mutters as if to himself. His eyes meet Koushi's for a short moment, a matching pair of Kuroo's golden ones, and Koushi instinctively draws his walls up higher around himself. This Kenma is an observant one, the touch of his mind so subtle it's hard to notice but all the more sharp.

“Where is Asahi?” Koushi asks.

“He's on duty tonight,” Noya tells him sadly.

“Naww buddy, at least you still have me,” Tanaka smirks. That seems to cheer Noya up at least a little bit, or at least enough to grin up at his friend.

“Hey hey hey!” Someone demands and steps towards their table. “Weren't thinking of starting without me, were you?”

“Not in my wildest dreams!” Kuroo exclaims and slaps his arm deftly. The newcomer slaps him back and they begin laughing and grappling with each other.

Daichi sighs and cocks his head sideways at Koushi. “Suga, this is--”

“Bokuto!” the elf announces before Daichi can and he slams his fist on the table with his name. He looks at Koushi with wide open eyes, sparkling bright and curious. His silver hair is streaked with black and twisted up into two short and haphazard braids which seem to be defying gravity itself.

Bokuto motions at Koushi with a big gesture as he sits down on one of the remaining two chairs. “Daichi, who is this? He looks like he needs to eat more! Are you not feeding your guests properly?”

Kei lets out another annoyed sound. Noya and Tanaka look as if they are about to jump up and defend Daichi's honour. Kuroo chuckles. Kenma sighs again, eyes turned down to his hands resting in his lap.

Koushi isn't quite sure he understands what's going on, and Bokuto looks just as clueless. But then a wooden clicking from the musician’s calls for attention and Bokuto turns his head eagerly.

“Shhh, Akaashi is playing!” he says, completely untroubled, apparently having forgotten about his earlier questions, and the entire hall falls silent when a single harpist amid the musicians begins his song.

At first, Koushi can't help but simply stare.

The harpist is clad in long dark blue robes, high collar and long sleeves embroidered with fine lines and patches of silver akin to stars, setting off his fair skin neatly. His dark hair is woven into a long braid, contrasting his garb like a dark cloud against the night sky. A simple circlet of silver is resting atop his brow. He has his eyes closed in concentration and his body is swaying slightly to the melody he has started.

But what Koushi's gaze is drawn to the most is the elegant movement of Akaashi's long and nimble hands, fingers plucking at the harp's strings as if it were second nature to him. It's hypnotising, mesmerising, and Koushi wants nothing but to watch and listen and drown in his song until he forgets about everything else.

Someone nudges him lightly, and Koushi blinks down in surprise to Noya holding out his hand to him. Noya beckons down with a nod of his head, looking at Koushi with raised eyebrows as if Koushi was somewhat slow. And Koushi  _ is _ slow, because he frankly has no idea what he is expected to do. But then he looks around and realises that Noya is clasping Tanaka's hand at his other side, and Tanaka's hand is linked with Kei's, and--

_ Everyone in the entire room is connected _ .

Koushi doesn't have time to be surprised or question what's going on. Noya has apparently given up on patience and just grabs his hand at the same time Daichi's fingers slide along Koushi's other wrist in a surprisingly gentle motion. It's Koushi's right side, where he has his arm bound by a brace, so the touch is just above his heart.

Daichi leans in. “It's alright,” he whispers under his breath and Koushi opens his palm to him, returns Daichi's firm and warm grip. There's something strangely comforting about it. “Close your eyes and just listen.”

Koushi does.

It's so intense, his eyes immediately fly open on their own accord and he almost yanks his hands free. But Daichi is a steady presence by his side, anchoring him to the moment. So Koushi takes a deep breath and tries again.

This time he expects it when Akaashi's melody takes shape in his mind. It's an ancient art he has only heard tell of, but there is no mistaking it. Akaashi tells a story with his song, and he takes them all on a journey with his melody, flooding their minds with waves of pictures and emotions.

Koushi sees the first green of spring, hope blossoming after a long winter. There is sunlight and birdsong, and it is serenity.

It is so easy to relax into the illusion once Koushi gets used to it. He starts to focus on his surroundings, starts to sense the others who are there with him in the moment. He feels Noya's smaller hand resting in his, callouses on his fingers and palm, and Noya's mind is more focused than Koushi would have thought possible from his earlier impression. Noya seems at peace, unguarded and free.

Daichi readjusts his fingers slightly around Koushi's other hand, drawing his attention immediately. Much like Noya, Daichi is entirely focused on the song. But there is more to it. Daichi is reaching out, connecting them. He is the solid and reliable base his team puts trust into, that much Koushi can understand from just a glimpse. And at the same time he feels the sudden urge to close himself off, not ready to be included when Daichi reaches out. Koushi feels inadequate, like he has no place among them.

Daichi gives his hand a light squeeze, accompanied by the echo of reassurance. Koushi keeps himself distant behind a carefully woven fence he has built over the years, reinforced instinctively within a heartbeat. Koushi knows it's not fair to meet trust the way he does, but he can't let go, can't let Daichi in and doesn't want to think about it.

Instead, Koushi focuses on the song again.

The scene shifts with the melody rising. There is a river now, growing stronger with the tune, taking them towards the shores. Koushi recognises the feeling of salt on his skin, the rough wind of the sea biting at his clothes and carrying him forward. He lets himself be carried, takes it all in, gets lost in the vivid picture.

It's scary to be afloat like this but also... liberating. An affirmative of a strength Koushi didn't believe he had in him. In this imagery he is free, here he can be open and unguarded, here he doesn't need to be in constant control but can simply let it happen, let it all play out as it would; in the song's illusion he doesn't need to worry.

It's easy from then on. Koushi wants more, wants the music to go on and on and keep him in this carefree picture for longer. But the melody trickles towards its end, slows and slows, until the final notes ring as an echo through the room.

Koushi opens his eyes to the silence, glances around to see how others re-emerge back to reality with him. He lets go of Noya's and Daichi's hands and straightens his back.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto is sniffing quietly from across the table and buries his face in his hands. “His music is the most beautiful!”

“There, there,” Kuroo says and pats his shoulder with a sympathetic, knowing grin.

“Shouldn't you be used to it by now?” Kenma asks, voice even and calm.

Bokuto looks at him as if he is offended by the mere suggestion.

“Ahh, food!” Noya chirps and jumps up from his seat in excitement. It doesn't help to make him appear any taller, Koushi notices with amusement. “I am hungry!”

A lighter kind of music starts playing and the hall begins to fill up with chatter and the clatter of silverware and dishes.

Koushi is glad. He has enjoyed the harpist's song, but he's not sure how much more of it he could have handled. Nobody mentions anything about it so Koushi is left to assume that it's a normal occurrence in this place. Someone puts a plate down before him and he smiles up in acknowledgement and gratitude. Noya is right in this, food sounds like a great idea.

“Any progress on the new design Kenma drew for you?” Daichi asks Kuroo between bites.

Kenma looks down at his plate, face blank, as the conversation at their table turns to some project Bokuto and Kuroo are working on as blacksmiths.

Koushi listens with curiosity while he eats, watches them laugh and joke and pull faces at each other. He silently hopes they are more careful when working with hot iron and heavy tools in the forge. Something tells him they're probably not.

Noya and Tanaka throw in the occasional comment, friendly bickering with them and each other, picking at Kei whenever he makes a sound of disapproval. It feels comfortable to just sit there and observe.

Even after the past days of practising, eating with his unsteady left hand is still tricky for Koushi. But Daichi must have noticed his struggles with bigger pieces of food and before Koushi can protest Daichi nonchalantly leans over and cuts it up for him without interrupting the conversation.

Koushi's face burns in embarrassment but nobody seems to be put out by the incident, or even pay any mind to it. It's odd, Koushi thinks, to be treated so normally when, obviously, he's an imperfection among them.

Kuroo is busy telling Kenma to eat more and trying to keep Bokuto from stealing his food when Kenma refuses. But eventually, they all finish eating and everyone pushes their empty plates towards the middle of the table. Servers come and take them away, replacing them with candles and glasses filled with wine.

Kenma's nose is scrunching up.

Kuroo beckons to one of the servers, exchanges some quick words with them, and a moment later they bring a cup of tea for Kenma.

It's the first time this evening that Koushi sees a smile on Kenma's face.

“Ah, Akaashi, there you are!” Daichi says suddenly and looks up when Akaashi steps closer.

The harpist nods at them in acknowledgement. He rests his dark eyes, coloured like the deep sea, on Koushi and Koushi feels the brief touch of his mind, soothing and calmly composed as his song. Akaashi turns to Bokuto and flicks his wrist in a quick movement and makes a clicking sound with his tongue.

“He welcomes you,” Bokuto says to Koushi when Akaashi sits down next to him in a fluent motion.

Akaashi wraps his long hands around one of the glasses as he pulls it towards himself, expression flat. Then he makes another clicking sound, followed by a quiet whistle.

“Wha-! No way, Akaashi!” Bokuto flails in his seat. “I'm not going to say that!”

Koushi blinks back and forth between them, confusion growing. Akaashi looks at Bokuto's mortified expression and holds his gaze completely unimpressed. Then his mouth stretches into a grin, revealing rows of white teeth, and he starts shaking with a strangled hissing sound.

Is he... laughing?

And then Koushi's breath almost stops when he notices another detail – the edge of a faint scar on Akaashi's neck, disappearing beneath his high collar.

Realisation hits Koushi full force.

_ Akaashi is mute. _

But the conversation continues as if nothing happened while Koushi is still trying to get his bearings. To them all it's nothing out of the ordinary. This is normal, a flawed reality as part of their everyday lives.

“Come on, spill!” Kuroo encourages with a lopsided sneer that sits on his face as if he was born with it. Bokuto just makes a whining sound at Akaashi.

“Akaashi said he apologizes for Bokuto being Bokuto,” Kenma says calmly.

“How do you know?!” Kuroo and Bokuto shout in unison.

Kenma leans back and away from them with a slightly mortified expression. Then he shrugs. “It's not that difficult, you know. Actually, it's one of his most used phrases. Bokuto's name is that owl-like whistle, and the palate click is an apology.”

Noya and Tanaka start laughing, almost doubling over the table. Kuroo and Bokuto look as if their pride is deeply wounded. Daichi just sighs in fond exasperation. “Always the same with them.”

“Only Bokuto understands him?” Koushi asks quietly.

“Oh no, not at all,” Daichi says with a laugh. “We have our ways of communicating.” And as if to prove a point he motions a pattern to Akaashi, earning himself a short nod from the harpist.

“What did you tell him just now?”

“He said thank you for the song,” Tanaka explains. “It's easy, you can learn it, too.”

“Yes, we'll teach you!” Noya chimes in excitedly.

“It's just the clicking and whistling that only Bokuto understands,” Kenma adds. “They've been doing that ever since they were children. But I will figure it out one day.”

Kuroo looks at him with a far too proud expression when Kenma hides behind the steam rising from his mug.

Koushi blinks and regards Akaashi carefully. “Do you... I mean, can I speak and you would understand?”

“He's mute, not deaf,” Kei says with an expression that seems to scream,  _ 'For Eru's sake, why am I surrounded by idiots?'  _ and makes Koushi feel stupid in an instant. “We use his language out of courtesy.”

But Akaashi looks at Koushi and similar to earlier Koushi feels the glancing touch of his mind which he instinctively shields himself from. Akaashi blinks at him. Then he turns to Bokuto and for a while they exchange a series of clicks and whistling paired with motions of their hands.

Eventually, Bokuto turns to Koushi. “He can hear and understand you just fine, but he asks me to tell you that, uh, what was the word he used. Ah yes. He'd  _ highly appreciate _ it if you'd let him listen. And also listen to him in return.”

Bokuto laughs, loudly and without a warning. “Ehh, he has a thing for complicated phrasing. What he means is that you should stop being a dumbass and let him in. It's not like anyone here is gonna hurt you.”

Koushi's breath hitches with guilt.

Kuroo leans across the table and winks. “You really should, though. Then Akaashi can tell Bokuto and Bo will tell me, and … have I mentioned your secrets are completely safe with us?”

“Kuro,” Kenma says, voice thick with warning.

“What?!” Kuroo pulls back and meets Kenma's glare. “I was just making a joke. Come on, it was at least a little bit funny.”

But there is already another series of succinct signs being exchanged.

“Akaashi wants me to clarify something,” Bokuto begins translating while Akaashi is still motioning to him, expression composed and serious. “He says... we all have our past to carry with us. But that you shouldn't-- No, hold on. You  _ need not _ be ashamed. Not among us. He says he can sense your pain, and... He asks us all to do for you what we have done for him a long time ago. And that he wishes for you to... to feel at ease. At this place. With us. Like he does.”

Koushi stares at them. It's completely silent at their table.

“ _ Akaashi _ ,” Bokuto whispers and takes Akaashi's hand to place a kiss against his palm. “That was so beautiful. So very beautiful.”

Akaashi averts his gaze as if to try and hide the coy smile that's playing around his lips.

Koushi has no words.

But Daichi already puts a reassuring hand on Koushi's arm. “I don't think I could have said it any better than Akaashi.” He lifts his glass, looks at Koushi with too bright, too welcoming eyes. “To this, to a brighter future.”

They all join him. Koushi blinks away the tears at the corners of his eyes.

Oh how it hurts to be offered what he wants so badly but cannot simply accept.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (nervous laughter don't worry he's only gonna angst for another 15 chapters or so ugh)
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who left comments on this fic so far, they give me life and keep me motivated, and are so very very appreciated <3


	5. Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One and the same night goes very different ways for different people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you once again [Maka](http://makariaartsabout.tumblr.com/) for helping me out and beta-ing this hell of a chapter. You guys should all go and feed her pancakes :3
> 
> Then, I'm happy and very proud to announce that there is fanart for this fic, drawn by [FakePlant](http://fake-plant.tumblr.com/), which you can admire [here](http://gmuhh.tumblr.com/tagged/elf-AU-fanart/). 
> 
> This chapter needs some content warning, I think, so let's see. There's a vague discussion of battlefield euthanasia (is that even a word... well, it is now), then there's a character having an anxiety attack, and last but not least this fic loses its innocence with a sex scene between two consenting adults (if that's not your thing stop reading at '“Come to bed,” Kuroo whispers', I promise you won't miss any, uhm, plot)
> 
> Other than that, enjoy (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

 

“You're home late,” Daichi says when the door swings open and Yui steps inside. He sets his book down on his lap and turns to her.

“I didn't know you were waiting for me.” She shrugs and opens the clasp of her cloak to slip it off her shoulders. Then she walks over to him and places a kiss on his cheek before dropping on the sitting cushion next to his by the fireplace. “How was tonight? How was Akaashi's song?”

“Enchanting,” Daichi answers honestly, and picks up his book.

Yui laughs. “Maybe Akaashi's song wasn't the only thing you found enchanting tonight?”

“Huh? How come?”

“Nothing, sweetie.”

For some reason or other, Yui is still laughing. Daichi looks at her, blinks over the top of his book, and then decides that she's the strange one here.

“Tea?” he offers and pours himself another cup from the pot on the small table beside the seating arrangement.

“Oh, ugh, no thanks. I'm  _ so full _ ,” Yui groans and sinks lower into the cushion. “Keishin's cooking is amazing. I swear, he's bewitching it or something. It's impossible to stop eating and you just crave more even when you're about to get sick from the amounts you've consumed already.”

Daichi chuckles. That sounds familiar. “How are they doing?”

“Saeko and Keishin? Ah, they're fine, like usual,” Yui waves. “Actually, we've been talking about you.”

Daichi raises an eyebrow. “How desperate for gossip are you that you need to talk about me? I'll assume you've run out of interesting content quite bad.”

“We're not that terrible, you know!” Yui protests and sits up straight again. “At least I'm not, and Saeko tries not to be. Can't say the same about Keishin.”

“You don't make it sound very believable.”

Yui kicks his shin half-heartedly. “Luckily, Akiteru was around. He usually keeps them at bay.”

“Mhm,” Daichi nods and grins. “I'm sure that's the only reason you're glad he was around.”

Yui ignores that. “Keishin's still the worst, though. The kitchens are like one giant breeding spot for gossip, and he works right in the middle of it. I'm not even sure he's actually interested, he just happens to hear a lot.”

“Sure, whatever you say.” Daichi shrugs, teacup in one hand, book still open on his lap, and he's not even really listening. He will never get what's supposed to be so interesting about discussing other people's lives without any other purpose than getting scandalised. Reading about spear throwing techniques catches his attention a lot more easily.

“So, have you told him yet?” Yui asks, completely unperturbed by his disinterest.

Daichi turns to her and  the smile on her face is slightly unnerving to look at. “Huh? Was I supposed to tell someone something?” he asks warily.

Yui sighs. “Oh brother dear, you truly are hopeless.”

Daichi is beginning to wonder if maybe Keishin has actually bewitched her dinner. He takes a sip of his tea while contemplating this.

“Let me rephrase,” Yui says patiently. “When are you going to tell Sugawara that you're infatuated with him?”

Daichi chokes on his tea, coughs loudly.

“There, there.” Yui grins and pats his back as Daichi is heaving breath.

“Woah, Yui, you're funny tonight!”

She just keeps patting him and laughing.

“Where did that even come from?” Daichi scowls at her.

Yui gives him that  _ look _ . The look that says,  _ 'How big of an idiot can you even be?' _ and Daichi smacks her hand away.

“Oh come on, don't tell me you haven't been distracted at the base camp this entire past watch shift. I've known you since before we were born, you really have to try harder if you want to hide something from me, Daichi.”

Daichi groans. This is ridiculous. “And what makes you think I was distracted?”

But he immediately regrets asking when Yui begins to count various occasions and situations in which he had indeed been slightly unfocused.

“Noya and Tanaka put bitter leaves into Kei's stew, and you didn't even notice--” she begins.

“How is it my fault when he's not paying attention?”

“Kei dropped ants into Noya's gloves when you were busy thinking about your moonflower prince.”

“ _ Yui! _ ” And damn her, how did she even know about the moonflowers? Was this entire house plotting against him or something?

“Tanaka  _ accidentally _ got a knot in the lacing of Kei's vambraces.”

Daichi glowers at her. “I'm not their father to tell them how to behave.”

“No offence, but that's exactly what you usually do.” Yui shrugs.

Daichi wants to sink into the cushion and disappear. Why does his sister have to be so damn observant when it comes to him? And why did her team of guards have to share a base camp with them this past shift of all possible times?

“I was worried about him,” Daichi grumbles at last. 

“Distracted,” Yui chirps happily, voice almost singing.

But two could play this game and Daichi has learned a thing or two from his sister over the years.

“Right...” he says slowly. “So how about we talk about what's been distracting you lately? Or, should I rather say,  _ who _ ?”

Yui's laughter dies in her throat. “No idea what you're talking about.”

“Ah, allow me to elaborate,” Daichi says dryly. “Tall, blonde, charming smile. Currently visiting home on a study leave from Lothlórien. Happens to be my healer's big brother. Need I go on?”

“That's something-- Did you just call his smile charming?”

“Are you going to disagree with me?”

“That’s different!”

“Really now?” Daichi quirks up an eyebrow and Yui's expression is too hilariously mortified for him to even try to bite back his laughter.

“Really!”

“Ah, yes, I'm sure there's nothing to it when Akiteru walks you home and you just keep talking at the corner for hours,” Daichi comments and idly turns the pages of his book.

“He's interesting to talk to is all--”

They both freeze when one of the doors to the adjoining rooms opens and a dark head is peeking in.

“ _ Ada _ !” Yui chirps, face suddenly all innocent.

How did she  _ do _ that?

“Uhm... tea?” Daichi asks sheepishly and holds up the pot to greet his father.

Their father shakes his head, rubs at his eyes. “Uh, no, I. Ah,” he yawns, voice gruff with sleep. “Look, I don't mind, but your mother sends me to tell you to keep it down a little. So  _ please _ , kids, let me sleep by letting her sleep.”

He turns and closes the door without hearing their incipient apologies.

“Does he, you know...  _ know _ ?” Daichi whispers to Yui once their father left.

“Of course not!” Yui whispers back, face bright red.

“I won't tell if you won't tell,” Daichi offers.

“Deal,” Yui agrees with a grim nod.

“So...” Daichi begins slowly after a while, staring into the already dying fire in front of them.

“No, we haven't yet,” Yui says quickly.

“What?”

“Kissed.”

“ _ What?! _ ” Apparently, Daichi is missing parts of his own conversation again.

“You … weren't about to ask that?”

“... no?” Daichi is puzzled. Was that something people were expected to ask when talking about love interests?

“Oh,” Yui makes and decidedly looks away from him.

“But since you obviously want to talk about it,” he teases. “How come you haven't?”

Yui makes a strangled sound that might be words and hides behind her hands.

Daichi grins and nudges her. He's not entirely sure he wants to know these things about his sister, but it's still better than Yui messing with him instead.

“He's so tall I can't reach up,” Yui mumbles against her fingers.

Daichi grabs a pillow to muffle his own laughter.

“It's a big problem to have, alright?” Yui glares at him.

Daichi starts giggle-snorting at the word  _ big _ .

“Apparently not a problem Suga would encounter with you when the moment arrives.”

Daichi chokes on his own spit. “Why in the Void would Suga kiss me?”

Yui gives him that  _ look _ again.

“Stop putting thoughts into my head already.”

“I'm not putting them there, I'm simply making you aware of them,” Yui defends.

“You're the worst.”

“And you're an idiot.”

“Runs in the family.”

Yui sighs and rests her head on Daichi's shoulder. “This is such a mess.”

Daichi leans against her in turn. “I know,” he says and draws her close. “I know.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Kei likes silent nights like these.

The chatter of the Hall of Fire isn't something he especially minds, but he doesn't see the appeal of it either. Music and stories are fine enough. Kei  _ likes _ music. And he enjoys the educational aspect when there are visitors who bring news or know different versions of the old tales Kei hasn't heard before.

But more often than not, the noise of pointless conversation drowns out the good parts. It's something Kei doesn't only find tiresome but also incredibly annoying.

He'd much rather sit on his roof and be alone. People are easier to deal with for Kei when he watches them from above, with much needed distance between them. 

As if prompted, his brother opens the window just beneath where Kei is sitting and grins up at him. “Hey big one, mind if I join you?”

Kei shrugs and moves aside a little to make room for his brother. Akiteru is one of the very few people who don't bother him when they are around.

Akiteru drapes a blanket around Kei's shoulders once he's next to him. “You're going to freeze. The nights are cold in this time of year.”

Kei looks at him. He doesn't need to be told. “Where have you been anyway?” Kei asks instead.

“I was walking Yui home,” is Akiteru's reply.

“What, she doesn't know the way herself?”

“Of course she knows the way, she  _ lives _ here.”

“All the more pathetic that you got lost. Or why else did it take you so long?”

Akiteru just laughs and shakes his head softly. Kei decides he doesn't need to understand this. There is a long pause then and Akiteru seems to have given up on conversation for a while and they just sit side by side, looking down into the dimly lit valley.

“Mother wanted to know how long you'll be staying,” Kei tells him as he watches trails of moonlight wash over the near mountains.

“I know,” Akiteru sighs. “She always gets so upset when I tell her. It's always too soon for her.”

Kei shrugs. “Then don't.”

“But I have to tell her.”

“I  _ meant _ ,” Kei reiterates what's obvious to him and rolls his eyes, “then don't leave.”

Akiteru grins, then reaches out to ruffle Kei's hair. Kei catches his wrist and stops the motion before it's completed.

“Your ink is fading,” Kei says and looks down at the back of his brother's hand where a mirrored image of his own tattoo creates a stark contrast to his light skin. “Do you want me to touch it up for you?”

“Maybe next time,” Akiteru says and pulls away to wrap his arms around his knees.

Kei clicks his tongue in annoyance. Akiteru always says that.

“Anyway. I'll stay until Winter Solstice. Mother already knows so don't worry about that.”

“I wasn't worried. I was just telling you that she asked again.”

“She always hope the answer is going to be different each time she asks. No matter which date I tell her, it’s always too soon for her.” Akiteru sighs and this time Kei doesn't stop him when he reaches out and tousles his hair. “I miss you too when I'm gone, you know.”

Kei says nothing, and there's really nothing to be said about it. If Akiteru feels the need to put mountains between them then so be it. It doesn't matter if Kei likes it or not, it's not his decision to make. They are brothers and the distance won't change that.

“I'm missing so many things when I'm not around,” Akiteru speaks softly now, as if to himself. “Every time I come home something has happened and I wasn't there to see it. Just look at your team, Kei, you've all grown so much stronger. I'm so proud of you, little brother.”

Kei takes a deep breath. He doesn't quite agree, but he knows that disagreeing will only lead to another pointless discussion. He doesn't need that. Especially not when he's already weighed down by his own circling thoughts.

“Who knows,” Akiteru goes on wistfully. “Next time I come home there might be some lady wooing you.”

Kei turns to him and doesn't even bother to wipe the sheer disgust off his face. “And then what? Make a fool out of myself like you do with Yui? No thanks.”

Akiteru laughs. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he says, hands raised up apologetically. “I know you wouldn't appreciate anyone's advances.”

“Good,” Kei replies dryly. He doesn't think he could muster the energy to talk such nonsense out of his brother's head tonight, no matter how much admiration he has for him otherwise.

Akiteru stares into nothingness next to him. “Does she speak about me?” he asks after long moments of silence, voice so soft Kei has to strain his hearing to even make out the words.

“How would I know?”

“You shared a base camp, no?”

“It was filled with Daichi going on and on about that Sugawara person.” That might not be exactly true. Daichi had mentioned him maybe twice, but Kei decided to cut out that detail.

“Ah, never mind. I just thought... that maybe--”

“Who are you love-sick fool and what have you done with my usually awesome brother?” Kei deadpans.

Akiteru laughs at that and says no more about the matter.

Kei is glad. Not only because this topic makes him uncomfortable but also because there's something else he needs to talk about with Akiteru. Something that will require Akiteru's focus. Kei is vaguely aware of time trickling by while he tries to think of how to best phrase what's been on his mind.

“To be honest,” Akiteru interrupts his thinking. “I thought you'd be more cheerful now. You saved those two people after all.”

Kei clicks his tongue again. Akiteru had gotten straight to the root of his problem.

“How do you continue what you do even after … everything?” Kei begins and frowns at himself for the pathetic way his voice is wavering and his sentence is falling apart.

Akiteru looks at him curiously.

“During the war, you were stationed at an outpost,” Kei elaborates, and isn't sure if his words are a statement or a question. “Because others were better.”

“Yes,” Akiteru confirms. “But that was a necessity. It only made me want to try harder, get as good as the others. That's why I study in Lothlórien. I want to expand my knowledge, refine my skills with what Imladris cannot offer.”

Kei thinks about it for a while. He knew this about his brother already, and yet... It's hard to relate it to his own problem. “Being good,” Kei says slowly, struggles to put his thoughts into words. “It all comes down to the decisions we make, doesn't it?”

“Depends.” Akiteru shrugs. “Sometimes you don't have a choice. Harsh times call for harsh measures. We all have a number of regrets on our plate.”

“That boy will be limping for the rest of his life and he doesn't even  _ know  _ it yet.”

“But he lives, Kei. He will live. Because you helped.”

Kei snorts and draws the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “I don't expect him to thank me for it.”

Akiteru shakes his head in disapproval, a small gesture Kei barely glimpses out of the corner of his vision. “Either way, it wasn't your decision to make.”

“And if it was?” Kei demands. “How do I know which is the right one?”

“You don't,” Akiteru says simply. “There's no way of knowing beforehand.”

Kei gnaws at the inside of his cheek. There is a long pause and when he speaks again he doesn't dare look at his brother directly. “I would have given them hemlock if Daichi hadn't ordered us back. I would have put them out of their misery and ended their pain the way I learned to on the battlefields when home and safety were unreachable.”

Akiteru isn't outwardly shocked at Kei's admission, his breathing doesn't lose its pattern, he doesn't reach out to try and comfort Kei. He simply sits there and listens, and it's the only reaction Kei can bear. It's why he tells his brother these things, because he knows that Akiteru understands him well enough. Akiteru knows that Kei's questionable morality in this isn't based on cruelty but on strictly logical calculation. Akiteru doesn't make things weird even when Kei comes to him with his vulnerability. Akiteru has been in Kei's spot enough times that he knows not to judge.

“But you didn't,” Akiteru tells him quietly.

“I  _ would  _ have if it was my decision to make, if I--”

“Kei,” Akiteru cuts in. “That's the point. You have a team to work with. You won't have to make such decisions on your own.”

_ 'That's only shifting the blame,'  _ Kei thinks but doesn't say out loud.

_ 'It's taking responsibility together,' _ Akiteru replies soundlessly.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Koushi is exhausted. He had expected to pass out the moment he slipped under the covers, soft fabric wrapped around his body securely. But the vivid images from the Hall of Fire won't make room for sleep and keep pushing into the forefront of his mind when he closes his eyes.

Everything here is so different.

Daichi and his friends all seem so... accepting. They had been open enough to allow Koushi a glimpse of what it would be like to become a part of them.

And what's worst, it felt as if they honestly meant it when they offered to include him. They had gone out of their way to show that flaws do not matter to them, that they don't care about where he is from or what damage he carries with him, that despite him being a stranger they would be willing to grant him a chance and start anew.

Tonight, they had made him feel wanted and welcome in their midst.

Koushi is torn, twists around atop the sheets, unable to find rest. There is no right solution to any of this, there is no way of making any of this right. Either way, someone will end up being disappointed; it will all be Koushi’s doing.

Koushi needs to make things right, but he has no idea how.

The letters at home had burnt to ashes with everything else. It had been the last thing on his mind when Koushi and Tadashi were running for their lives. But now he remembers, now he sees the written words clearly.

_ 'Koushi, dear boy,'  _ those letters all started with, not soon after his parents had perished. The words were written in an unfamiliar font that belonged to aunts and uncles Koushi had met when he was little and could hardly remember.  _ 'We are so sorry to hear what happened.' _

Koushi had replied, politely, because even when he was hurt he knew manners.

_ 'There is a place for you here,'  _ another letter had said. ' _ You are family, you are welcome here in Lindon.' _

But never, not even with one word, had they mentioned Tadashi, not even after Koushi had written that he was responsible for his brother. And there was no way Koushi would leave his brother behind for anyone. Koushi didn't expect them to understand. From what he learned through their letters, his relatives valued bonds forged by blood in the strict old ways. He didn’t hold it against them; it was their way of surviving.

But it was not Koushi's way, had never been. He was like his parents, who had lived and breathed to teach him that being connected in heart and mind meant a stronger tie than following any obligations of blood.

_ 'We mean to leave these lands,'  _ the next letter had informed Koushi, not too long ago.  _ 'There are ships sailing into the West. We all seek safety in dark times like this, when families are brutally torn apart by the unspeakable deeds of the enemy. It is our hearts' wish to see you follow us, to know that you will be untroubled and safe with us on this journey.' _

It was clear enough what they expected of him to do.

And yet, Koushi hadn't known how to reply. It had sounded tempting. Safety. But there was Tadashi, and he meant more to Koushi than a promise of sailing to the Undying Lands.

Still, once the invitation had been extended, the idea of leaving these lands had been there in the back of Koushi's mind.

Koushi had meant to let Tadashi know about the written correspondence with his relatives, meant to discuss options and possibilities. But he hadn't found the courage to bring it up. He kept putting it off because he didn't want to trouble Tadashi on good days, and because he didn't want to aggravate his distress on bad days.

There had always been an excuse for Koushi to pretend those letters didn't exist.

And then... Then the letters burnt into nothingness with everything else when their village was under attack and in fleeing Koushi and Tadashi had ended up here.

In Imladris. Where they were taken in with hospitality.

Koushi's body doesn't cause him pain. But everything inside of him hurts. He is torn apart inside and nothing makes sense. He has lost so much, and he wants security like he wants his next breath. But Tadashi needs a lot more time until he will be well again, well enough to travel, and Koushi knows that until then they are both attached to this place, to Imladris. Especially when there are people like Daichi and his friends who make them feel so welcome. They all strengthen each other, they are not shaken by Koushi's pain, they are willing to accept him and Tadashi here. Tadashi should have that, should be taken in and accepted, live among friends.

Friends, Koushi thinks weakly, and memories come rushing in again.

There's the echo of laughter, Daichi's reassuring touch, Noya's honest sounding invitation to stay around. He remembers the glancing and curious touch of Akaashi's mind, so calm and composed even when he must have seen Koushi's turmoil. The way Kuroo had smiled at Kenma. The way Bokuto had held Akaashi's hand between them when he told him his music was beautiful.

And before Koushi can stop himself his mind supplies him with the illusion of being a part of all that. He finds himself wondering what that would be like, to rely on steady reassurance from Daichi the same way his team trusts him to lead them. What it would be like to hear Daichi telling him things Koushi would never believe he deserved to hear.  _ 'It's alright, to be weak now, you've been strong for so long. You're not alone any more.' _

He imagines strong arms wrapping around him, holding him, comforting him. Koushi wants all that, aches for it so bad. Even when he knows that it's not real, that he wouldn't allow himself to have it right now even if it was offered.

Koushi wants nothing more but to stop thinking. He reaches up, loosens the remains of his braid with rough motions. The pull against his scalp stings, brings him back to clarity for a short moment. He takes a deep breath, sits up on the edge of the bed.

_ Just breathe _ , he tells himself, _ just focus on your breathing. Inhale, exhale, inhale... _

But his mind doesn't stop spinning and Koushi's thoughts are slipping sideways.

_ One, two, _ he tries to count and rocks forward,  _ three, four, five, _ and he sits up straight again.  _ Six, seven, _ rocking forward again, …

It doesn't help.

Nothing helps. He cannot breathe.

_ Eight, nine, ten, ele-- _

He gets up, ignores the dizziness rushing in, paces the room in quick circles. 

Koushi feels as if he is suffocating, his lungs are heaving breath but no air seems to reach him. 

He needs--

Koushi hates when this is happening, hates how inexorable the blinding panic is rushing through his body. None of it makes sense, he knows that there is no justified reason to feel the way he does and yet he cannot stop it. Koushi can’t explain what’s going on, he only knows that he is scared of being alone, terrified of where his mind will wander when there is nobody to stop him.

Koushi had never had many close friends. He got by with the majority of those who lived in his village just fine, but it had always taken a lot for him to open up and feel comfortable enough with someone to let them close.

Koushi needs his friend. His best friend. 

Yaku. 

Yaku who used to be there when Koushi needed him. Not in a gentle or soothing way, but Yaku had allowed him to burn off steam by provoking him with stubborn silence until Koushi was screaming and kicking out his panic and agony and confusion. It was always awful afterwards, Koushi always apologised to Yaku when it was over and he felt like himself again, when the poison was drained from his mind. But Yaku never said anything about it, just made him tea, slapped Koushi's back deftly, and went back to his workshop.

Yaku had never been loud, never one to draw much attention. He was, much like Koushi, someone who was simply there, dependable when needed. And they both knew they could rely on each other. 

But as the years had gone by Koushi has lost most of those who were once closest to him. 

And now Yaku is --

_ Koushi doesn't even know if Yaku made it out alive. _

Koushi sees the fire, the smoke, hears the screaming as he and Tadashi run for their lives. Koushi doesn’t even know where Yaku was when it happened.

Koushi should have gone back, he should have tried to find Yaku, he should have...  _ done anything. _

_ No! No no no, don't think that, don't think that, don't think that. _

Koushi shuts his eyes before the self-reproach and shame that threatens to slice him open. But it's no good. Behind his closed eyes he sees the bright orange of the fire, and the memory of screams are turning into Yaku's voice. 

So painfully vivid is the image his mind supplies him with, of Yaku who stands strong but in the end calls to him,  _ ‘Koushi, help me! Koushi, I can’t --’.  _

Yaku who shrieks in pain and despair when all falls apart. Yaku who--

There's a loud crack when Koushi opens the door forcefully, and his thoughts are beginning to catch up with what he's doing when he's already out of the room and his feet take him down the hallway. He counts the doors in the darkness without thinking, enters the room without knocking.

Koushi is drowning in guilt when he looks at his brother. He knows that Tadashi is suffering from nightmares, knows it's not fair to push his own despair onto him when Tadashi himself needs help. 

But tonight, Tadashi's breathing comes easy, and there is no fear when he turns his head to look at Koushi.

“Tadashi...” Koushi hears himself whimper, his voice thin and pathetic. Tears are dripping down his nose as he stumbles forward. 

Tadashi doesn't ask, doesn't tell him not to cry. He simply reaches out and catches Koushi's fingers between his own. Koushi sinks down by the edge of the bed and lets his tears flow freely, body rocking with silent sobs.

Koushi is blind in his agony. But there is Tadashi now, sweet innocent Tadashi, who holds his hand and sings for him.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Kenma is scribbling idly on the corners of the paper before him. The only source of light in the room is a torch beside him, almost burnt down for the night, tinting the scene in molten gold and painting shadows across the walls.

Drawing helps Kenma relax, to recover from the day's events, to focus on here and now instead of the scenes repeating over and over in his mind. Being surrounded by too many people for long always makes him feel uncomfortable and queasy, and he needs these quiet moments afterwards to wind down before he can sleep.

Kenma is mostly ready for bed, now waiting for Kuroo to come out of the bathroom to help with what’s left. Not that Kenma can’t handle his own hair or clothes, but Kuroo insists, and Kenma quite enjoys the gentle ministrations even when he doesn’t care to say so out loud.

During the day Kuroo is the loud one, the one demanding attention. But at night, Kuroo's attention is on Kenma. And it's in the silent times after sunset that Kenma feels Kuroo's usual restlessness dissipate into nothingness, replaced by contentment. It is then that Kuroo's sole focus lies on Kenma, and they both know it's the only time Kenma will allow it. 

Kuroo moves soundlessly through the darkening room, smooth like a shadow. “You weren't as quiet as usual tonight,” he states as he takes another step closer to Kenma.

Kenma doesn't react, knows that he's not required to.

Kuroo rests his chin lightly on Kenma's head. “Drawing anything fun?” he asks softly.

Kenma shrugs. He's not sure what he's drawing, he just allows his pencil to wander across the paper as it will. It's passing time, something to keep himself busy with.

Kuroo slides his hands up Kenma's shoulder when he straightens up behind him, lets him lean into the touch. “Did you not feel uneasy around Sugawara?”

“Not particularly,” Kenma mumbles, voice calm and even.

Kenma pauses his drawing for a heartbeat when Kuroo's fingers flutter to his neck and set to work to unlace his tunic, brushing over the freshly bared skin above his collarbones.

“Care to explain?” Kuroo asks, honest curiosity in his voice, and peels the piece of clothing away from Kenma's chest. “How is he different?”

Kenma lays down his pencil, turns his head just enough to glance at Kuroo out of the corner of his eye. “He keeps to himself.”

“Unlike most others?”

Kenma nods, allows his arms to slip free of fabric, raises them as Kuroo lifts his under-shirt up and past his face.

“Bo and Akaashi keep to themselves even when you don't want them to,” Kuroo comments when he folds Kenma's clothes away.

“ _ Especially _ when I don't want them to,” Kenma corrects and scrunches up his nose.

“At least you're getting better at deciphering their hooting nonsense.”

Kenma tenses up involuntarily. It distresses him when Akaashi and Bokuto communicate in a way that isn't understandable to him. He knows they don't mean anything by it, but knowing is different from feeling.

“Go and open the window, Kuro,” he orders instead of lingering on the subject. The torch will soon be nothing more than smouldering ashes and Kenma wants fresh air when he sleeps.

“We could get lamp stones,” Kuroo mutters but does as told. “No smoke when you don't burn anything.”

“I like torch light better.” A partial truth but it's good enough a reply, Kenma decides. Kuroo doesn't need to hear that Kenma enjoys a faint smokiness because it reminds him of the way Kuroo smells when he comes from the forge.

“You always freeze in winter,” Kuroo reminds him and returns to his spot behind Kenma.

Kuroo smooths his hands up Kenma's bare shoulders. His touch is warm, a comforting contrast to the rush of cold air against Kenma's skin.

“Blankets exist,” Kenma shrugs, stating the obvious. “Besides, I know you’ll keep me warm. Your body is like a furnace.”

Kuroo makes a strange sound, half chuckle, half gasp. Kenma smiles at that, face hidden from Kuroo’s view, and picks up his pencil to resume drawing.

There's a certain softness to Kuroo's skin when he leans forward and presses in against Kenma's back, shielding him from the cold air. He's always softer after he bathes, and collecting grime and dust from his work in the forge makes it a necessity for Kuroo to wash properly before going to bed. It’s become a habit, and even on days when Kuroo hasn’t been working he bathes before sleeping. They are different in that aspect, because Kenma himself prefers to wash in the mornings, and the fresh water helps to shake off any sleepiness clinging to his limbs after waking up early.

There had been more than one occasion when Kuroo tried to convince him otherwise. 

But Kenma tends to win those arguments by telling Kuroo that he doubted any washing would get done if they bathed together. It's a strange kind of satisfaction when Kuroo is too busy trying not to blush to keep on arguing his point.

That's fine with Kenma. He likes his morning routine.

“So, what do you say?” Kuroo prompts. “Is your curiosity satisfied after having met Sugawara?”

Kenma breathes out an exasperated sigh. “Need I remind you that you were the curious one who dragged me there? I'd have been happy eating at home.”

“I got you tea after dinner.”

“You  _ bribed _ me with promises of tea.”

“Details,” Kuroo says, untroubled, and picks away the first number of beads from Kenma's hair. “But go on. What's there to him?”

Kenma ponders his answer for a while. He knows that Kuroo can very well figure out these things about people on his own. Kuroo is clever, Kuroo has an instinctive sense of understanding people which Kenma lacks. Where Kenma analyses, Kuroo simply  _ knows _ .

But Kuroo always makes Kenma talk anyway, often by pretending that he's clueless. He always coaxes Kenma to put his musings, his observations, into words. Kenma hates the effort he has to put into voicing his thoughts, but he knows that it helps to sort through them in the end, to wrap his mind around them, to categorise situations and his own feelings.

So Kenma thinks back to the way Sugawara had recoiled from his glancing. It's something that could easily be mistaken for someone harbouring dark secrets. But Kenma is familiar with the same instinct and need for self-preservation and distance, knows it too well from himself.

Hiding away hadn't seemed like something Sugawara did because he wanted to. Underneath his fear there was the the faint wish to open up and trust.

“He's hurting,” Kenma says eventually. “But he tries not to show it.”

“Why?”

“Oh I don't know, Kuro,” Kenma snaps. “Why would anyone not want to display their vulnerability in front of a group of people they’ve only just met?”

Kuroo leans down and presses an apologetic kiss to Kenma's temple, threads his fingers into Kenma's hair and presses in against his scalp. “He didn't say where he's from, did he?”

Kenma shakes his head lightly. “But it should be easy enough to narrow down the options. His accent is too northern to be from Lindon and there's only a handful of settlements I've heard of to harbour elves of Telerin blood.”

“He's of Telerin ancestry?”

“Kuro, have you even looked at him?”

“Only had eyes for yo--  _ uuuuh. Argh! I'm sorry! Stop kicking me! _ ”

Kenma has to bite his lip to stop from huffing out a chuckle.

“So...” Kuroo tries again and opens the biggest clasp, letting Kenma's hair fall free and spill over his shoulders like a dark curtain. “Any hints about what he's up to when he's not... you know, running for his life with his half-dead brother in tow? I figured he can't be especially good with weapons.”

Kenma rolls his eyes at Kuroo's wording even when Kuroo can't see him from where he's positioned. “He's neither accustomed to handling weapons nor heavy tools,” Kenma confirms.

“Ah, yes, he does have a slim frame. But then there's people like Nishinoya, and he's very capable of defending himself despite his ridiculous shortness.”

“It's his hands,” Kenma states with a shrug. “Even Nishinoya's hands have broadened and calloused over the years from fighting. Sugawara's hands look too gentle for that. I'd assume he's a crafter who works with glass, or wire perhaps.”

“Delicate hands, hm? He might as well be a musician, or a scribe, for all we know.”

Kenma sighs. If this were anyone other than Kuroo he probably wouldn't bother to elaborate. But Kuroo's hands in his hair help him relax, so he explains patiently, “There were small burn marks at the side and back of Sugawara's fingers that don't fit for musicians or scribes. Scribes tend to have callouses from their writing tools, similar as I do, if at all. Musicians get only the tips of their fingers roughened up from playing, like Akaashi does from his harp strings. But Sugawara's hands look like he's had the occasional accident with a soldering iron or burner which he would be using if my theory is correct.”

Kuroo dips low to press a kiss against the top of Kenma's head. Kenma lets him.

“I hope it's glass,” Kenma adds quietly. “I hope he knows how to make prism ornaments.”

Kuroo slips his fingers tighter against Kenma's scalp and drags them through his hair, untangling the strands in the process. “What's so special about those?”

“They make the light look colourful when it reflects.”

Kuroo laughs, silent enough to not startle Kenma but loud enough to be grating his calm. “Why would you want rainbows in your house?”

Kenma turns just enough to glare at him. “Why would anyone  _ not _ want rainbows in their house?”

“I suppose they're not half bad if Sugawara can make them cat shaped.”

“Cat shaped rainbows, Kuro? Really?”

“Sure, why not?” Kuroo says easily and his mouth does the thing where it splits up into a weird half-grin that reveals a canine. “You get rainbows, I get cats. It's win-win.”

Kenma blinks at him. Then he turns around and continues to drag his pencil over the paper as Kuroo's hands slip into Kenma's hair and resume their task.

He knows that this is Kuroo's favourite part, removing the golden threads and adornments from Kenma's hair until it falls over his shoulders smoothly like water gliding over a rock. Eventually, Kenma puts his drawing aside, simply leans back against Kuroo's chest as he cards through the easy straight locks.

Kenma is done thinking for the night, he decides. His mind’s no longer as restless, Kuroo's way of making him talk helped. Probably more than Kenma would admit.

But he doesn't have to admit anything. 

Instead, Kenma focuses on the moment, on the feeling of Kuroo's rough fingertips on his bare skin as they slide down over his arm. Kuroo dips low and presses his lips to the nape of Kenma's neck, dragging further in small kisses along the line of his shoulder, tasting him.

“Mmh, feels good,” Kuroo murmurs, and there’s another soft trail of lips against Kenma's shoulder, more intent now.

Kenma lets out a breathy sigh, a sound he allows to thank Kuroo for his efforts, informing him that there are other things he wants now. More urgent things. And, most importantly, things he knows Kuroo craves as well.

“Come to bed,” Kuroo whispers, and Kenma lets the answering shudder of his chest be enough of a reply.

The torch flickers up one last time as Kenma turns towards him, and there is a fire in Kuroo's eyes that is not brought on by a reflection of light. Kenma knows what Kuroo wants, knows what he needs. And here, in the dark, tonight, Kenma feels generous in indulging both Kuroo's and his own desires.

_ And so very selfish _ , Kenma can't help thinking somewhere in the back of his mind when their bodies press together under a nest of pillows and blankets in the darkness. Selfish, because it always feels as if Kuroo is worshipping him with every fibre of his being.

Every touch is skin on skin now and Kenma takes Kuroo's hand, places it against his side and has Kuroo complete the movement for him by running his palm over Kenma's body. Kenma allows the responsive shiver to crawl across his skin, knows that Kuroo likes seeing him react to his touch. But Kenma doesn't linger, already reaching up for Kuroo to kiss against the corner of his mouth. 

“Kenma--” Kuroo gasps, a breathy and rasping sound that brings Kenma more satisfaction than he might like to acknowledge. Kuroo kisses him, tongue coaxing Kenma to open his mouth, gliding over his lips in a soft caress.

And Kenma just closes his eyes, relaxes into Kuroo's touch, and lets things play out as they will.

It's easier in the dark, easier when he is hidden under heavy blankets, easier when Kuroo's curious glances can't make out details. Rationally, Kenma knows he should be flattered, tries hard to steer his thoughts this way, but there is a certain discomfort upon being on display which he is unable to shake. It has nothing to do with trust.

After all these years Kuroo knows him so well that Kenma entrusts himself to him blindly.

Kuroo doesn't seem to mind his shyness much, and that's one of the many wonderful things about him. Even when he doesn't expect Kenma to take the initiative, even when he doesn't get discouraged by Kenma brushing off his sometimes cheap attempts as if they mean nothing, Kuroo is there when Kenma reaches out for him. And that is perfect. Because as easy as it is for Kenma to say  _ no _ , it's all the more difficult for him to say  _ yes _ , to voice what he wants, to say out loud what he really craves.

What a blessing that none of it requires actual words, Kenma thinks distractedly when his skin burns under the drag of Kuroo's palm and he melts into his kiss, open-mouthed and greedy.

He breaks away for air, and while Kenma is more comfortable with actions than words it has never stopped Kuroo from doing the talking himself.

“Kenma...” Kuroo whispers against Kenma’s neck as he kisses and lightly sucks the tender skin into his mouth, causing Kenma to bite his own lip hard against the strangled sound that threatens to erupt from his chest. “... feels so ...  _ good _ .”

Kenma doesn't really listen, doesn't focus on Kuroo's words as they slowly lose their sense and become incoherent. Instead, Kenma concentrates on the heat that consumes his body and drowns out his thoughts, growing stronger as Kuroo pulls him closer toward him. Kuroo's breath is hotly rushing against Kenma's skin, his voice is a spark of desire raking up Kenma's spine and coiling deep in his belly with need.

Oh, how Kenma  _ needs _ .

And Kuroo is already there, his hands on Kenma's body with firm intent where he craves it. All Kenma has to do is surrender to his own desire, and it's so easy to do, such a simple thing when it's so willingly offered by the only person he would ever take it from. And finally,  _ finally _ , Kuroo begins to ease the way with slick and nimble fingers, and there is nothing Kenma is capable of doing but turning his face against the pillow and letting his helpless groan be swallowed by the fabric.

After all these times Kenma still feels lost in his pleasure, doesn't really understand what's happening to him when his world burns bright white. But he doesn't have to, there is no need to understand anything when he can't tell Kuroo's mind apart from his own. It's wonderful and fearsome all alike, and Kenma wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

Kuroo presses him into the mattress, rains kisses down across the line of his neck, his collarbones. Kenma wraps his leg around Kuroo's waist, pulls him closer. It's easier in the darkness, easier when Kenma can hide his face securely against Kuroo's shoulder, eyes tightly shut. Even as they find their rhythm like that, erratic breaths and desperate gasps, Kenma needs more, needs Kuroo to keep him from losing himself.

_ 'Kuro,' _ he reaches out blindly, and Kuroo finds Kenma's hand, laces their fingers together and holds him tight.

“I got you,” Kuroo whispers close to his ear, “I’m here.”

Kenma doesn't think he could respond even if he wanted to. His syllables would fall apart with Kuroo driving him to much desired insanity by the way he slides into him with near roughness and touches him so very gently at the same time.

Kuroo's mouth is against Kenma's neck again, worrying the soft flesh with tongue and teeth. Kenma whimpers, can't decide which way to squirm under the overwhelming pleasure inside him, all around him. But Kuroo holds him securely in place, lets Kenma cling to him, and it's exactly what Kenma needs to stave off this agreeable torment he aches for so much.

“Let go,” Kuroo urges him on as he keeps rocking into him breathlessly, frantic words wavering against Kenma's skin.  _ 'I got you, let go for me.' _

Kenma tightens his grip around Kuroo's fingers. There are words, somewhere far off on his mind, but none of them are important. Kenma hears his own voice break on a cry, too far gone to care, barely even registers making the sound as his body convulses in waves of bright heat. 

They are falling and crashing together, and Kenma is blinded by Kuroo's light, consumed by his fervour, the same way he knows that Kuroo can feel him.

“Kenma,” Kuroo whispers and he holds him even as he pulls away and sinks down next to him.

Slowly, so very slowly, Kenma becomes more aware of his surroundings again. He's over-warm under the heavy blankets, still wrapped in Kuroo's arms. The cold air streaming in from the open window is a welcome contrast where it reaches him.

“Kenma...” he hears Kuroo murmur again heavily, drowsily, as he shifts them about so that they are side by side.

Kenma feels as worn out as Kuroo sounds. When he turns to look at him Kenma doesn't bother to hide the tenderness in his eyes. Kenma's not coherent enough for words, but this, this unguarded look, is what he can do to let Kuroo know just how much he means.

And even in the dim light of the night Kuroo understands, pulls Kenma close against his chest, cards his fingers through Kenma's hair again as he presses a kiss to the top of his head.

When Kenma drifts into sleep there is nothing but silence on his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (coughs loudly)
> 
> As always, there is art on my [blog](http://gmuhh.tumblr.com/tagged/elf-AU); specifically for this chapter: [Kenma and Kuroo](http://gmuhh.tumblr.com/post/142135459888/kenma-and-kuroo-from-chapter-05-tonight)


	6. Ere It Was Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akaashi had never seen value in his voice until he learned how incomplete he was without it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks go all to [Maka](http://makariaartsabout.tumblr.com/) who keeps managing to fix my errors and make sense even when I put the worst word mix-ups into what I send her for beta reading. She's very precious and deserves all the nice things.  
> This is _the_ BokuAka chapter (it's literally just me gushing over Akaashi) Lotsa elven stuff, like song magic and mind-to-mind communication, memories of injuries, and... yeah, okay, there's gentle sin at the end :3

Akaashi had never been one to speak much.. When Akaashi paid attention there were entire worlds to be discovered within the minds of others, some of them easily shared and others carefully hidden.

It had caused his parents much distress when he was little and wouldn't speak at the age other children usually formed sentences. He never really understood their concern; could they not see that he was much happier listening?

Akaashi had always strived to hear and feel and learn and listen. He called it listening even when it was about much more than simple words. Only years later did he realise how intrusive this seemed to some, but that made it no less fascinating. Akaashi loved the challenge, loved the thrill of testing subtlety. Most forgave his prying easily enough; he was only a child and by the time he wasn't anymore he had learned to not get caught.

Most people Akaashi was surrounded with were so obscure, so secretive. And then there was Bokuto who required no prying to be heard. Akaashi found he loved that even more, no matter how much at first he wished he could stuff Bokuto's mouth with dirt.

When Bokuto stepped into Akaashi's life it had been with a loud crash and the shattered pieces of a window. They had both been boys then, small enough to play hide and seek in cupboards they no longer fit inside. Bokuto had been devastated, and he wouldn't calm down or stop lamenting until even Akaashi, usually calm and collected, had lost his patience.

“Don't do stupid things if you can't deal with them afterwards,” he had exclaimed, annoyed, tired of the boy's wailing. Bokuto was older than him, wasn't he supposed to have better control over himself and keep it down a bit?

That simple complaint from Akaashi's lips was all it took for his parents to  _ adore _ Bokuto. He was no longer the boy who had broken their window, but the boy who managed to get Akaashi to speak without prompting.

And talking wasn't so bad after that, Akaashi realised. Especially not when he found out that Bokuto had at least a dozen different ways of saying  _ Akaashi _ . He made the name range from a sing-song of the syllables to an agonised cry that would slowly slip into a softer sound, a laughter, a gentle murmur. Akaashi was thrilled by this revelation, and he kept finding new ways of earning himself yet another variation of his name.

Most times, it was enough to call Bokuto out on something stupid he had said or done. “I don't think that's how it works, Bokuto,” was all he needed to tell his new friend to get him to squawk out an undignified, “Aka- _ aa _ shii!”

Other times it was a small word of approval, a simple, “Well done, Bokuto,” for which Akaashi received an almost soft and adoring utterance of his own name. Or exuberant screaming and consecutive self-praise, it could really go either way.

They were growing up and time was going by like the blink of an eye. Both changed, and yet they did not. Akaashi continued to enjoy listening and Bokuto always kept his habit of making sound for the sake of making sound.

But Akaashi found that he didn’t want to stuff Bokuto's mouth with dirt anymore. Not for something he adored so much.

“Are you an owl?” Akaashi had asked him at some point, referencing one of the more ridiculous hooting sounds Bokuto sometimes made when he got excited. Some days he wondered why Bokuto bothered with words at all. Akaashi composed his face to look like indifference when actually Bokuto's expressiveness was endearing to him and he didn't want him to stop.

Bokuto slapped him on the shoulder with enthusiasm and loudly announced that owls were his favourite animals and he had never been praised higher. Akaashi tried hard not to let his composure shatter, and while he managed to not roll his eyes at the other boy he couldn't help biting back a smile on his lips.

That's how it had started, a secret language slowly building between them, growing more refined throughout the years. It had stemmed from mockery mistaken for a compliment, but it formed into something only representing fondness and their trust in each other with this shared secret. It was the beginning of a world built only between the two of them.

“You're running away again,” Akaashi found himself chiding his friend when he came of age and had too much wine to drink at his celebration. Bokuto had kissed him on the mouth and tried to make it look like an accident with incoherent mumbling, but Akaashi grabbed his sleeves to keep him from escaping. Bokuto had always been a terrible liar.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto whispered and there was open despair written across his features.

“I told you not to do stupid things if you can't bear the consequences,” Akaashi shushed him, and Bokuto understood his meaning when he pressed their mouths together and their lips and tongues became occupied with wordless tasks.

It might have been the first night they acted on it, drunkenly though none less sincere, but they both knew that they had decided for each other a long while ago. It was a decision made that would not be changed, simple as it was, and they both learned to rely on the other even more after that.

Another handful of years passed. Bokuto had planned it all out, and it was amusing enough for Akaashi to watch him busy himself and keep believing that Akaashi was clueless. In the end it had taken Bokuto an approximate of three and a half flustered tries with incomplete sentences and broken syllables and lots of half-shouts while burying his hands in his own hair until he managed to choke out what resembled a question.

To this day, Akaashi still prides himself in how he had held back his laughter upon the open and very real relief from Bokuto when Akaashi had told him that, “Yes, Bokuto, I'd like to spend my life with you.”

As if there had ever even been as much as a chance of him rejecting Bokuto.

Right after, Bokuto kept babbling and rambling and shouting and telling Akaashi that it was an excellent choice and that he was certain that his awesomeness was what made Akaashi choose Bokuto and how his decision was proof of Akaashi's brilliance and that Bokuto would have also picked himself because he was the best and actually Akaashi couldn't have asked for anyone better and –

Akaashi made him shut up then, and by the time Bokuto was finally silent their clothes were piled up and forgotten on the floor. Akaashi was fine with that. Whatever worked. Bokuto seemed fine with it as well, very calm and very asleep with his head resting on Akaashi's chest.

And, as expected, nothing really changed between them. Akaashi only grew more attuned to Bokuto's mood and the often minimal changes in their surroundings that could set him off in a heartbeat. It mostly felt like the logical path for them to take.

* * *

The weeks trickle by slowly after Sugawara's and Tadashi's arrival. Sugawara remains a mystery to Akaashi, and the challenge is only getting more exquisite. Akaashi hasn't quite figured it out, but he likes to think that he is getting closer.

There are things Akaashi is safe to assume. Most obviously, hardly anyone Akaashi was close to had been fortunate enough to grow up in peace. Akaashi knows that often those who aren't wounded themselves are affected by a different kind of worry and pain that could wear them down and break them when they have to watch others suffer. He recognises a certain caution in Sugawara, and a sense of responsibility he holds over Tadashi. Akaashi can see all too easily that Sugawara might not be the one with the blatant wounds, but he is hurting all the more for it.

It had always been the other way round for Akaashi.

The pain of the blade slicing through his throat is edged into his memory, as is the panic he had felt when he woke up from the consecutive darkness and his scream rushed past his lips without a voice.

It kept haunting both his and Bokuto's dreams for a long while.

But the worst part had been to see Bokuto by his side, frantic tears running down his face. That was the day when Akaashi learned what it sounded like when Bokuto helplessly sobbed his name.

Akaashi didn't mind the unrequested silence his body was stuck with now as much as he minded seeing how it got under Bokuto's skin. There was shame, guilt for not having been able to stop any of it, pointless regret. Bokuto shaved his head in mourning, raked his fingernails down his own face to leave angry red streaks. And no matter how much Bokuto would cry Akaashi remained incapable of whispering the usual reassuring nonsense to him.

Akaashi had never seen value in his voice until he learned how incomplete he was without it.

It was only after they had both calmed down, after they had both realised how lucky Akaashi was for being alive, that they began reworking what they had started on so many years ago. Akaashi had thanked the Valar a thousand times over, thanked and praised them for every single stupid thing he and Bokuto had ever done that had led to developing their secret language.

Over the years they managed to modify it, adjust it to the range of sounds Akaashi could still produce with tongue and lips and breath alone. Soon communication was made seamless again with the added mingling of their minds. They even came up with a simplified version to teach to others. Between them it remained special, between them it was a memory of a long lost past.

The wounds fade with time, the past is gone. But even centuries later Bokuto is the one who suffers and keeps his hair short, shorter than he used to wear it, vicarious pain on display on the body that had not been harmed.

A similar helplessness is written on Sugawara's face when he and Akaashi meet up so that he can teach him their language of gestures.

Akaashi knows that Sugawara tries to hide it, but Akaashi is not new to learning people's minds. And Akaashi is patient, he has time. Sugawara's stubbornness is annoying, sure enough, but Akaashi comforts himself in knowing that this is merely another proof of his self-control. If he wanted to Akaashi could easily pry, easily break Sugawara's barriers. They don't seem too strong; Sugawara lacks conviction of keeping people out. But Akaashi likes to think of himself better than that, more honourable in his subtlety than to simply barge into Sugawara's thoughts. So he waits, carefully disguises his curiosity.

Teaching Sugawara is interesting in itself and Akaashi finds out quite a bit about him in the process. Akaashi has taught enough people to recognise certain patterns.

There are those who go by instinct, like Tanaka and Nishinoya, who heavily rely on tones and the subtle touches of Akaashi's mind; Akaashi thinks they would hardly understand him if he didn't actively reach out for them to set a mood and underlying atmosphere of the conversation, but he's too decent to test his theory and shatter their pride.

Then there are those, like Kenma and Yachi, who learn fast as if to escape or as if they were scared of scolding if they didn't master it by the end of the day.

There are the hopeless cases, good-natured and open, who practically invite Akaashi to push his meaning onto them; the boy Tadashi seems to be one of them.

And some people, like Kuroo, already know enough other languages to understand concepts like syntax and grammar and fit Akaashi's signing into their repertoire of communication easily. Sugawara belongs in the last category, structured and efficient in his learning, which only sparks Akaashi's interest further.

Presumably, Sugawara had grown up with varying influences. A shameful part of Akaashi hopes that there is some kind of a family feud, because as long as Akaashi isn't involved himself those are fascinating, entertaining to watch. But he knows he could never keep such a thing from Kuroo and the part of Akaashi that holds propriety in high honour hopes to stop the gossip mills before they even start.

They are walking to the winter gardens now, Tadashi between them and leaning against Sugawara's side with every other step. It has only been a handful of days since he first left his room, and walking exhausts him quickly. So they sit down on one of the wooden benches, sunlit and warm behind the high glass walls. It's cozy, being shielded from the cold air outside. Tadashi slides into a lying position to rest his leg and he settles his head against Sugawara's lap easily.

Akaashi has brought paper and a quill, but the more often they meet, the less frequent he needs those tools. Sugawara is learning fast.

“Akaashi?” Tadashi asks, and he sounds already half asleep when he blinks up at him.

Akaashi acknowledges him with a nod and soft nudge of his consciousness.

“Koushi said your song had magic and made him dream. Can you also make me dream?”

_ He is so young _ , Akaashi finds himself thinking,  _ so pure in his intentions _ . “What do you want to dream of?” he signals, inclining his head, and Sugawara speaks up for him.

The boy seems to consider this for a while. He opens his eyes when he speaks again. “The Sea, I think. They say the shores are beautiful, but I've never seen them myself. You've taken Koushi there with your song, can you take me there as well?”

Akaashi does smile this time, and it is because yet another detail about Sugawara has been revealed to him. In his songs Akaashi is able to set a mood, project an emotion, an atmosphere. Music is a subtle art of manipulation, and Akaashi has learned to bend it a certain way, but his audience has to make up the details themselves. It's likely that Sugawara wasn't aware of this, considering how surprised he seemed the first time he experienced Akaashi's music.

“You should come to the Hall of Fire and find out,” Akaashi invites politely.

“Thank you,” Tadashi murmurs softly and nestles against Sugawara's thigh. He drifts into sleep already and his words don't sound like those of a conscious person anymore.

For a while, Akaashi and Sugawara practise soundless conversation, chit-chat about the weather and nothing at all. It's incredibly boring. And then Akaashi gets too curious, can't get Tadashi's hinting out of his mind.

“Does the Sea call  you home, Sugawara?” Akaashi motions to him slowly, watching Sugawara's eyes follow his hand movements and narrowing in concentration.

Akaashi half expects him to deny an answer, but Sugawara blinks up at him and then, very softly, speaks. “Literally...” he murmurs and coughs a dry laugh.

Akaashi watches him swallow. They both wait. But Akaashi has decided that he has waited for long enough. Before Sugawara can pull back Akaashi extends his hand to lightly brush across his forehead. There is the image of a memory on Akaashi's mind, and he is prompting Sugawara to accept it. When he does, Akaashi lets it flow easily between them, making sure that Sugawara realises Akaashi is showing and not looking.

There's a seagull's cry, sunlit houses carved into high cliffs, a great ship with white sails disappearing on the horizon. But there is also the ache of parting in Akaashi's memory, soothed away by someone beside him.

Sugawara pulls away. “Your family...”

Akaashi nods.

“But you and Bokuto... stayed behind?”

Akaashi nods again. “We shall meet again, one day,” he signals. “When Bokuto and I are ready to leave these lands.”

Sugawara blinks at him, confusion clear on his face. For a brief moment Akaashi wonders if his wording was too much as of yet and paper and quill were in order. But then Sugawara tilts his head in understanding.

“There was enough here for us to stay,” Akaashi adds with fluent motions. “They did not leave us behind, we chose to remain here.”

“Ah...” Sugawara makes, softly, and his gaze seems to wander far off, a faint blush spreading high on his cheeks.

_ Ah indeed _ , Akaashi thinks and can't help another small smile when he realises that he has stirred up something there. Interesting. Sugawara is a puzzle more susceptible to vague prodding than upfront questions. It makes Akaashi hardly surprised that Daichi had gotten nothing out of him with his bold moves. How artless.

“Lately though,” Sugawara begins, hesitation thick in his voice. “I've been--”

But in that moment Tadashi jolts with a faint sound of distress rushing past his lips. “--Kou!” he whimpers, expression twisting and breaking.

“I'm here,” Sugawara soothes, and his tone is calm enough to gloss over the surge of panic Akaashi can clearly sense from him now.

Tadashi winces. “They are burning, Kou,” he whispers, eyes unseeing and wide open with despair. “I can see them burn. Their faces are burning.”

Akaashi lays a firm hand against Sugawara's wrist when he reaches out for his brother. “Let him wake at his own pace,” he commands with his other hand, more intrusive than usual to be sure his meaning gets across.

“But he needs-”

Akaashi cuts him off with a soft hiss. “Let me.”

Sugawara looks as if he's about to protest, but he doesn't stop Akaashi when he brushes his fingertips across the boy's freckled forehead and lets them rest at his temple.

There's the sudden rush of something like suffocation and restraint, a feeling Tadashi must have been struggling with in his nightmare. The boy is caught in the strange stage of awareness without yet being able to move according to his will. Akaashi lets the feeling go, pushes his own presence forward instead. He is calm, and this place is safety, wrapped in a melody Akaashi has designed in silence, and that's all the projection he needs. Tadashi's face relaxes, his heartbeat slows, and he closes his eyes again. With a sigh he nestles closer to Sugawara and his body slumps with untroubled sleep.

“How...” Sugawara whispers when Akaashi withdraws his hand, looks at him with near bewilderment. “How did you-- He only calms when I sing to him.”

“You sing. That's your answer,” Akaashi conveys. He stands and straightens his robes. “I shall leave you to yourselves now.”

They live in a world created in song . _ It should really not come as such a big surprise,  _ Akaashi thinks as he watches Sugawara's eyes widen with understanding. The importance of songs is a fundamental part of Akaashi's life, and he hasn't had a choice in the matter for a long time. What comes to him like second nature looks like a revelation to Sugawara. But songs matter, songs hold the potential of influence, songs are one of the few ways left for Akaashi to reach out. In his song Sugawara lets Tadashi feel his presence and comforts him by being there. Sugawara is so young, so very young, and there is so much he yet has to learn.

* * *

Winter is approaching and seeing as dark creatures have a tendency to crawl deep into the mountains and hide away from the cold the border patrols are more spaced out and a greater number of guards remain in Imladris for longer periods of time. This usually also means that the training grounds are busy. And this in turn means that Akaashi keeps away from there. He doesn't mind the practising, but he tends to avoid the crowds.

Bokuto, on the other hand, loves it; as does Kuroo. The more crowded the better.

Akaashi remembers times when Kuroo used to drag Kenma along. But these days Kenma tends to escape to Akaashi's study whenever he can. Kenma has no grasp on the concept of finding joy in getting worn out physically and Akaashi doesn't mind having him around, so they often spend those times in silence.

Kenma's silences are comfortable. They feel calm; he is a glowing presence next to Akaashi, his eyes shielded carefully when he looks at him. Akaashi knows not to cross Kenma's border, and Kenma remains quiet and allows Akaashi to focus on his musical compositions.

It's nearly dark when they rise and walk to the training grounds together.

“Hey, hey, Akaashi!” Bokuto shouts with his usual enthusiasm once he spots them.

Akaashi can't help smiling to himself when Bokuto makes a surprised jump and cries out loudly. Kuroo had hit his shins with the wooden stick he pretends to use as sword, and Bokuto starts his counter attack without delay. If it were a real fight they would both be rather useless. When he sees them sparring Akaashi always thinks that it looks less like fencing and more as if Kuroo and Bokuto were going at each other with hammers.

Well, they are blacksmiths after all.

Bokuto had always been like an open book to him, and Akaashi knows him better than anyone else. He recognises all the little details that can set Bokuto off and change his mood in a heartbeat. There is open honesty to everything Bokuto does, he never bothers to hide any emotion, not from Akaashi at least. There seems to be no filter between his thoughts and the words that stumble from his mouth. When Bokuto is upset nobody can miss it. And when Bokuto is excited everyone knows about it and gets infected by his enthusiasm.

In that he is different than most. Kuroo uses loudness to gloss over his own insecurities, or to distract from something he'd rather be quiet about. But all of Bokuto's expressiveness is true and genuine. It makes communication with him easy and relaxing. And as much as Akaashi loves a challenge when it comes to figuring others out, he adores the feeling of unstoppered honesty he gets from Bokuto.

It took Akaashi a little longer to understand that, while Bokuto's moods were easy enough to read for everyone, Akaashi has always been the only one who could sense a reason and a solution to them like second nature. It is an instinct that had been with him for most of his life. Bokuto's presence is comfort in its familiarity. Imladris is where they live now, but Bokuto is Akaashi's home.

Kenma gives a small cough next to Akaashi where they stand at the sidelines, effectively getting him to focus on what's in front of them. Kenma and Akaashi are so similar and yet so very different in their habits when it comes to observing people. What Akaashi does for entertainment and out of curiosity Kenma does to protect himself and his perceptiveness is carefully trained for the sake of avoidance.

Akaashi is well attuned to noticing details, and since Sugawara's arrival there had been both change and consistency around them all.

Things that had stayed the same were the small acts of affection that came to Bokuto as naturally as breathing. A kiss to the palm of Akaashi's hand, a smile brighter than usual, the lingering brush of fingertips, the press of a leg against his under the table when he thought nobody was looking.

Something that has changed is the way Daichi is looking at Bokuto's display of adoration. And Akaashi has already entertained his mind with various reasons and outcomes to this situation.

1 – Daichi disapproves. Not very likely. He has, after all, never known them any other way. No reason for him to start objecting now.

2 – Daichi is even denser than Akaashi assumed he was up to now and had only started to realise certain details about the bond that Bokuto and Akaashi share. Hopefully, also not very likely. But at least it would explain option 1.

3 – Daichi is beginning to categorise affection as something that can indeed take physical form and his calculating glances are to measure up how much of it he would be willing to allow for himself should the opportunity arise. More likely than 1 and 2 combined.

Akaashi watches Daichi and Sugawara sparring at the far end of the court. Sugawara's shoulder has healed enough for him to use his arm for balance but it's not stable enough for him to wield a blade yet. So Daichi has offered to also fight with his non-dominant arm, resulting in both of them looking ridiculous. Their tunics are clinging to their chests and backs with sweat, heightening the physical contrast between them. Daichi's broad build makes him look so much larger than Sugawara who is barely a hand's width shorter, but of a much slimmer stature.

Daichi leaves his flank open for the blink of an eye, just a moment too long, and Sugawara doesn't miss his opportunity to attack. He completely ruins it by apologizing.

“I am so sorry!” he calls, half laughing and seemingly surprised by himself that he had actually not missed his strike.

Daichi is about to topple over, and Sugawara's victory is short-lived when Daichi manages to pull him down in his fall. They land on the ground with staggered expressions, a tangle of limbs and flushed faces, heaving breath and laughter.

_ Option 3 seems more and more likely, _ Akaashi thinks quietly and can't help feeling a little smug. He wonders what Kenma makes of the situation, but asking him would be like losing an unspoken contest of who can figure it out first.

“They are so incredibly stupid...” Kenma pulls him out of his musing. Akaashi's gaze shifts towards where Kuroo has plopped down on Bokuto heavily, pressing him to the ground and shaking with maniacal laughter at Bokuto's fruitless attempts to struggle free.

“You won't win if you let him sit on you,” Akaashi motions to Bokuto, expression flat, just to hear him wail his name and drag out the last syllable in dramatic exaggeration. It's all the information Akaashi needs to relax. As long as Bokuto could still shout like that he wasn't in such a bad state. Akaashi will calm him down and reassure him later.

Kuroo's grin sits lopsided on his face and Kenma lets out an exasperated sigh at the display. “You're so embarrassing, Kuro,” Kenma mumbles when the two get up and come striding towards them.

When Akaashi nudges Kenma's mind gently in agreement Kenma's expression doesn't change in the slightest. He does, however, scrunch up his nose when Kuroo tries to wrap his arms around him to catch him in a sweaty embrace.

Bokuto is also demanding attention now and Akaashi is fine with that. He motions a succinct goodbye to his friends and he and Bokuto walk back towards their home.

“I had totally gotten him just before you arrived. I was so awesome, I was the most awesome, Akaashi! So awesome. I wish you could have seen how awesome I was!”

“You used the word awesome four times now.”

“Ak _ aa _ sh--!” Bokuto flails. “You're supposed to agree with me!”

Akaashi turns his head to hide his smile when they reach their quarters. This is the Bokuto he loves, has always loved so much, despite how much he wears him out at times when his overly excited moods seem to find no end.

“You need to wash,” Akaashi signals and steps into their bathroom without further delay.

“Oho ho?” Bokuto makes, and he is already peeling his sweaty garb away from his body and wiggling his eyebrows. The grin on his face gets under Akaashi's skin, brings forth Akaashi's ancient urge of wanting to stuff Bokuto's mouth. Though, not with dirt.

“Don't like it sweaty, Akaashi?”

_ Not with dirt at all. _

But instead Akaashi clicks his tongue in mock annoyance. “One more word and you're bathing alone.”

“Akaashi!” Bokuto whines high in his throat. “You can't be this cruel to a defeated man!” But he complies nonetheless and is silent while Akaashi calmly draws a bath.

Akaashi also undresses then, folds his robes neatly and sets them aside. He ties his hair up high so that it wouldn't get wet in the bath. He hopes Bokuto won't splash around too much this time. Bokuto is watching as if in a trance, following the movement of his fingers, eyes gazing over his pale body.

“Come here,” Akaashi motions and Bokuto does.

Akaashi has always enjoyed moments like this, when Bokuto is pliable and exhausted from exercise. He sets to work, scrubs away the sweat and dust from the day with a damp cloth, and Bokuto does nothing but lean into his touch, eyes transfixed on Akaashi's face.

When it is done Akaashi guides him to the bathtub, waits for Bokuto to climb in first before joining him in the warm water. Bokuto immediately leans back against him, resting his head on Akaashi's shoulder. Akaashi smiles when Bokuto seeks his hand to intertwine their fingers and put them on his own chest above his heart.

The moment drags out comfortably and for a long while there is nothing but the quiet dripping of water as Akaashi cards his free hand through the locks of Bokuto's hair. Their favoured scented oil makes the room smell of pine wood. And Bokuto, usually loud and uninhibited, is calm enough when he has Akaashi's undivided attention.

Bokuto hums in contentment, and then he twists around in Akaashi's hold to kiss the underside of his jaw. He grins when Akaashi's chest rumbles in what would be a chuckle if he had the ability to utter such sounds. It tickles.

Akaashi looks at him levelly, musing. It would be so easy to tilt his head a little. Just a little. Just enough to claim Bokuto's lips for himself.

So he does.

Bokuto is many things, but most of all he is honest. Every word, every sound from him, each and every small reaction of his body to Akaashi's touch is pure honesty.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto sighs against his mouth, yet another iteration of his favourite syllables.

Akaashi would never get tired of hearing it. He had never been one to speak much; no, Akaashi had always found more joy in listening.

And Akaashi is well aware that there are times when Bokuto likes to listen as well. He knows how much Bokuto needs to hear sometimes. He knows how much Bokuto misses the sound of Akaashi's voice, knows that Bokuto is the only one who still remembers what it used to sound like ere it was lost. Akaashi knows that Bokuto longs for the soft nonsense that Akaashi used to whisper to him, for the way Akaashi used to choke out his names in the throes of their passion. And all the more, Akaashi hates that he cannot do that anymore.

But there are some things he can still do.

Without detaching their lips Akaashi pushes closer. There is no protest from Bokuto when Akaashi lets his hands slide downwards along Bokuto's chest, further and further, coaxing him to excitement. There are kisses, touches, eyes falling closed with a breathy gasp. Water cascades down from their bodies when Akaashi guides Bokuto to stand up and he dries them off with a soft towel, movements uncharacteristically haphazard and hurried.

Bokuto looks at him, and there is hunger and need in his eyes. Akaashi kisses him deeply again, walks him backwards until his hips are pressed against the edge of the dresser. It doesn't take long after that before Bokuto wraps his legs around Akaashi's waist, encouraging his desire, pulling him in possessively.

“Akaashi,” he whispers, aching for Akaashi's touch, needing it like air to breathe.

“ _ Akaashi, _ ” Bokuto moans lowly as Akaashi takes pleasure in giving what he so desperately wants.

“ _ Ak... _ A- Aka- _ aashi. _ ..” the syllables are falling apart, and Akaashi is shuddering with delight at the sound of it. Bokuto's eyes blink open, large with desire, seeking Akaashi's with frantic need. “Please...  _ please, _ let me hear you.”

And after all these years it's easy, their connection stronger than ever.

_ 'Bokuto,'  _ Akaashi thinks breathlessly, wrapping his mind around a shared memory, and he knows Bokuto can imagine it vividly, knows what his name has once sounded like in Akaashi's voice. But it's not merely the name, it's the vulnerability that comes with it, the utter trust they have in each other.

_ 'Bokuto...'  _ he emphasizes once more and Bokuto unravels with the broken sound of Akaashi's name on his tongue, causing them to fall apart together.

_ ‘...Akaashi.’ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~(top!Akaashi? top!Akaashi :D )~~
> 
>  
> 
>  _Thank you_ to everyone who has left comments on this fic so far, you're all very very appreciated and keep me going. I love hearing what you think!


	7. Prince Of The Riverside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was all the apple pie's fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self-indulgence is my middle name, so have a chapter full of KuroKen (which does absolutely nothing for the main storyline of this fic other than world building :D)  
> Actually, this chapter can be read pretty much separately from all others. 
> 
> As always, my gratitude goes to [Maka](http://makariaartsabout.tumblr.com/) for being my beta. Especially for this monster of a chapter <3
> 
> Warnings for child abandonment and some heavy angst in the beginning. Sexual content towards the end, if you're uncomfortable with that please stop reading at "You changed my life that day." Other than that, enjoy :3

Kenma doesn't know where he is from. His past is a blur, there are no memories to depend on.

He had been told that he was found in the forest, alone, starving. His foster parents had taken pity on him because they were incapable of having children of their own. Some days Kenma wished they had left him there to die.

The only indicator of his identity had been a necklace with a name engraved on it. One day, at the market, Kenma had one of the old hags who sold herbal tinctures decipher the delicate letters. _Kenma_ , they read.

 _That is me,_ Kenma had decided.

Kenma had never fit in, never grown to be part of the human village he was raised in. He had always been the odd one out, damned by his birth and elvish heritage. Not even the new name they had given him, _Kozume_ , changed anything about that. The name was a mask, something Kenma wore to try and fit in. But it wasn't _him_. It never felt like it belonged to him, and it wasn't how he thought about himself.

And thus, Kenma grew up, and the loneliness within him was as much part of himself as was the fact that he wasn't human.

His foster parents were kind enough, they fed him well and didn't scold him when he wouldn't talk much. But they also never felt like what Kenma thought family was supposed to feel like if watching and hearing others was any norm for that.

Kenma was tasked with work on their farm as soon as he could manage to help out. But he had never enjoyed it, had always detested how tired it made him. Getting exhausted was awful. But that was the life he knew, and Kenma figured these things had to be done. There wasn't really any other option, so maybe it was normal, maybe it was what life was supposed to be like.

But he had trouble believing that when he saw the other children in the village. They were laughing and huddling together in groups, playing their games and glancing at him with wide curious eyes.

The other children grew up faster than Kenma. And they were always so loud, it made Kenma's head hurt. Not only loud with their voices, but there was something about them, when they were nearby, that Kenma had trouble categorizing. It _felt_ loud to him, even when there were no words spoken, and it caused him discomfort of a kind that kept him from sleeping and made his skin crawl with anxiety.

Kenma wanted them to stay away from him. And as if on instinct, they did, but it was from hostility rather than respect.

“What is he even doing here?” they would whisper sometimes. “Look at him, how small and pathetic he is.”

Kenma winced when he heard them talk so, confirming his insecurity and fears. He wished they would just leave him be. If it was for him he would never interact with them, pretend they didn't exist if they were willing to do the same for him.

“I thought elves were supposed to be strong and tall and beautiful.”

“Yes, maybe he's not a real elf!” another voice piped up. “Who knows what kind of creature they have taken home from that forest...”

“And have you seen his eyes?”

“Perhaps, he's a badly disguised cat servant of Tevildo!”

“Don't be stupid, if you call his name he'll come and eat you while you sleep!”

“No he won't, he wouldn't want to raise suspicions!”

“The evil don't care about that!”

And their banter and speculations died out the further they went from Kenma's hearing range, long legs moving too fast for him to keep up with even if he wanted to. Humans were so strange, everything about their actions and conclusions and fast way of living felt _wrong_ , and Kenma felt _wrong_ for not being able to adapt to it, and he wanted to scream in despair.

But he didn't. Kenma kept it all inside, always hidden.

The children he grew up with came of age, and one by one they started families of their own. Kenma watched as it happened, his own body still small and barely that of a boy reaching adolescence. Human lives burned quick and bright like dry twigs set on fire by a single spark. Kenma’s own life held no fire. He was like the night, the stars hidden behind thick clouds, and the moon not risen yet.

How ironic that they used to called him small and pathetic when by the time Kenma reached his full height he was taller than most of the villagers. He detested how it made him stand out, and he wished nothing more than to have remained shorter.

For as long as he could remember Kenma had always tried to avoid being more abnormal than utterly necessary; he always tried to make himself as dreary as possible. It meant to cut back on his own wishes sometimes, but it was worth it if he meant he went unnoticed.

Kenma had heard the old stories of proud elven kings and wars and heroic adventures. None of them sounded as if Kenma could ever be part of this ancient and noble kin. And yet, it was oddly inspiring when the travelling tale-tellers went out of their way to describe the elves' long hair and adornments they used to enhance their beauty. Kenma kept his own hair trimmed short like the other boys in the village, barely long enough to cover the pointy tips of his ears.

Years went by like the blink of an eye, and by the time Kenma stopped looking like a child his foster parents faded away during a long and harsh winter. Kenma saw their friends weep, but he felt none of their deep grief himself. Sadness, yes, because they had been kind to him and always open and honest. But he didn't desperately miss them. There was something so _wrong_ with him.

He had expected to be chased away after that, but surprisingly, the villagers let him be and he stayed. There was no place else for him to go. He kept the farm, did what he could to keep himself fed, working odd jobs in exchange for food when the harvest wasn't fruitful.

It had been in the long quiet nights of winter when Kenma discovered how drawing helped to ease his mind. He would sit by the light of the dying fire and create patterns in the ashes that laid like dust on the floor. It was enough to get him to focus, enough to replace the emptiness within him with blissful silence, even if just for a little while.

Until one day he was delving too deep and lost sight of his surroundings as his fingers were working. And when he returned to himself there were tears dripping down his nose and onto the picture of screaming faces, twisted and torn in agony, within the ashes his hands had arranged.

 _Wrong, wrong, wrong,_ Kenma's incessant mind told him and for a while he wouldn't touch the ashes again in fear of what he might find next should he lose himself again.

Spring came, and with it the usual arrival of merchants and journeymen paying their visits to the villages. Kenma found that for being so short-lived humans were surprisingly unchanging, always keeping the same patterns and routines. Kenma himself avoided the market place; it was too loud and crowded. He much preferred the solitude of the fields.

And usually his plan of being alone worked fine. Until one day it didn't.

There was a voice, too close and too loud, but melodic enough to not cause Kenma's head to pound with pain.

Kenma blinked up. A dark haired youth was looking at him, lips split into a smile, flashing white teeth. He was taller than Kenma, which was rare enough, and he held his hand out to Kenma in greeting. “Kuroo,” he said.

Was that his name?

Kenma contemplated the offered hand. There were callouses on the young man's fingers and dirt under his fingernails. Before Kenma had time to react the boy had already reached out and grabbed Kenma's hand to shake it. He was saying something, words spoken in the same unfamiliar melody as before. Kenma didn't understand any of it.

Silence followed. Kenma stared at their clasped hands and the skin at the back of his neck was prickling with discomfort of a kind he could not quite place. It reminded him of how he had felt around the children of the village, long years ago.

Eventually, finally, the stranger let go of Kenma's hand and the prickling sensation stopped in an instant. Kenma suppressed his sigh of relief. Touching had always made him uncomfortable even when it probably held no hostility.

But the stranger was still not leaving. He looked at Kenma, blinked down at him almost expectantly. And then –

“Oh!” he made and laughed. Kenma winced at how loud it was. Usually, when people were laughing in his presence they were about to taunt him for something or another and then –

“You don't speak my language!?”

Kenma shrunk back a little, still too surprised to speak right away. He shook his head instead, eyes skidding off to the side, expecting a reprimand.

But the boy seemed to have a different course of thoughts. “Ah, my bad, I could have sworn... Anyway, I'm Kuroo, blacksmith apprentice.” He flashed Kenma another wide grin. “I was so certain you were of our kin, sorry about the confusion there. This is my first year with the journeymen and I was exploring the area a little and, uh... I kinda got lost out here. So, if you could point me back to the marketplace, please?”

Kenma _stared_ at him. Kenma didn't usually stare, but here he was, ogling a stranger as if he couldn't believe he was real.

“What?” Kuroo asked after a while. “Still not a language you speak? I'm gonna run out of options. Hm, let's see.” And his tune shifted subtly as he rambled on with words Kenma was unable to discern, brain too busy trying to make sense of any of this.

“What did you mean, _of our kin_?” Kenma demanded and cut off Kuroo's babbling.

“Hah! So you do understand!”

Kenma's stare turned into glaring.

“Well, you look like it. Your eyes, mostly,” Kuroo explained.

“My... eyes?” Kenma instinctively braced himself, taking a small step backwards. Last time he heard his eyes discussed by anyone it had led to accusations of him being vile. And Kuroo was bigger than him and Kenma wasn't sure he could outrun him should he have decided he wanted to chase Kenma.

“Oh no, nothing bad!” Kuroo reassured immediately, hands reaching out as if to touch him. But then he dropped his arms again instead of making contact. Kenma was glad for it. “You just don't seem human, if you know what I mean.”

Kenma did not know what he meant. His breathing stopped momentarily.

_Not human._

Our kin.

Kenma blinked up at Kuroo. He took in his sharp features, his bright eyes.

_Our--_

“Are you...?”

“An elf?” Kuroo responded easily, and he lifted some of his messy dark hair out of the way to display the pointed tip of his ear. “Last time I checked I was!”

“These things don't tend to change,” Kenma said flatly, because what else was there to say. He desperately wished his heart wouldn't beat quite this fast.

“You've never met any other elves.” It wasn't a question.

Kenma shook his head.

“I'm your first then? Ha! I feel so honoured!” Kenma winced as Kuroo punched the air as if this was some sort of victory. Was he always this loud? “How come you're here all by yourself? And you still haven't told me your name!”

“Kozume,” Kenma said, purposefully ignoring the other question.

“Ko-- Kozu,” Kuroo tried to wrap his tongue around the syllables and gave up. “...what an odd name.”

“It's not like I had any say in it.” This was, with absolute certainty, the strangest conversation Kenma had ever had in his entire life.

Kuroo laughed again. “You sure hadn't!” And then, “So, if you were to pick, what name would you give yourself?”

Kenma didn't have to think for long. “Kenma,” he murmured, vaguely wondering why he even bothered telling this stranger.

“Kenma,” Kuroo said, easily, almost singing the name, and when Kenma looked at him Kuroo smiled.

“Oh!” Kuroo made then, “Hold on!”

Kenma watched as Kuroo dug into his bag and took out a crumpled piece of paper and a pencil.

“There,” Kuroo said, tongue pinched between his lips as he scribbled down something. “It's not especially pretty in my handwriting, but-” He handed Kenma the paper. “-this is your name. And mine, right below it. Thought you might like to know, since the language is all new to you.”

Kenma looked at the paper, at the faint lines that wove into a pattern in elegant strokes, all foreign dips and curves and swirls. Kuroo's font was full of life; it was excitement and bubbling energy.

“It looks different,” Kenma remarked.

“Different from what?”

Kenma pulled at the string around his neck until he held the pendant with his name between his fingers.

Kuroo squinted at it. “Because that's written in the mode of Beleriand.”

“Ah.”

“It's just the vowels being different, basically. Well, some other minor things, but it's readable easy enough.”

“Ah,” Kenma made again. There was a tightness in his chest he was entirely unfamiliar with; the same feeling tugged at his lips without permission and made him smile. Excitement, Kenma realised dimly, this was what excitement felt like. He quenched it with more difficulty than he would have expected.

Kuroo couldn't stay long that day, but he promised to come back and then he rushed down the hill towards where Kenma had pointed him.

Kenma didn't really believe Kuroo's words until, a few days later, Kuroo, dark hair messy as it had been the first time, waved at him from a distance.

“Kenma!” he called out, and it felt good to hear his true name spoken in Kuroo's melody.

From then on they met more or less regularly, whenever Kuroo's schedule would allow it.

And, what was probably the most unexpected of it all, at some point Kenma started to look forward to spending time with Kuroo. That was _new_. Kenma had never before enjoyed anyone's company.

Kuroo never made him feel uncomfortable, despite being loud and unpredictable at times. He could’ve been so strange sometimes, Kenma found, but in turn he never picked on Kenma for being different.

Instead, Kuroo offered him glimpses into what was his daily life. To Kuroo, it was perfectly normal; it was only to Kenma that it sounded like something the tale-tellers at the market would make up. Kenma envied Kuroo for the ability to be so sure about himself and where he was from.

And Kuroo had so much to tell and teach.

“This,” Kuroo said, waving his twig enthusiastically at the words he had drawn into the sand, “means 'house' and that one there 'forge'. See, it's easy!”

Kenma copied the words without trouble, committing the letters to memory. Writing or words were simple enough to learn. It was the melody of Kuroo's language Kenma had trouble mastering. He often wondered what it would have been like to grown up speaking like Kuroo instead of the human dialect he was accustomed to. Kenma's voice wouldn't obey when he tried to draw out the vowels just right and hit a subtle tune instead of sounding dull and rough. But he liked the timbre of Kuroo's voice when he spoke in his native tongue, the way the syllables melted together, the way he made the words dance across his lips so effortlessly.

The smile Kuroo gave him whenever Kenma got a sentence right made his skin crawl with embarrassment. But he wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

It was nice to not be alone when it meant having Kuroo around.

  


* * *

  


Kuroo had always known that he would become a blacksmith one day. It wasn't because of any family traditions or some such restrictions he saw others go along with. No, Kuroo's wish was born from appreciation he held for the trade. In his opinion it was the most artful of crafts one could learn, combining both strength and knowledge like no other.

He was an easy catch for the travelling recruiters, but the blatant enthusiasm of one of the accompanying apprentices, Bokuto, was certainly helping to make Kuroo feel less guilty for leaving his home behind and pursuing the career his mind has been set on for as long as he could remember.

“No freaking way,” Kuroo hadn't been able to keep from saying when he found out that Bokuto was, in fact, his elder. “You act at least as dumb as I do, how in the Void are you above me in rank!?”

But Bokuto had just laughed and told him that it was because he was awesome and much stronger and that Kuroo was lucky to train with him and –

A tap on his shoulder had Kuroo's attention before he could get into a shouting match with Bokuto.

The first apology Kuroo received from Akaashi was on paper, elegant letters in dark blue ink. Kuroo had barely finished reading when Bokuto let out a distressed sound and that was all it took for Kuroo to burst out laughing.

In the following years, Bokuto became his closest friend. Kuroo was quick to learn to admire Bokuto for what he was, loud and always eager to prove himself, most times up for probably-stupid activities as long as there was fun to be had. Bokuto was simple-minded, easy to get along with, and loud enough for at least two people; and one of the most loyal people Kuroo could imagine. As if that wasn't enough it turned out that Bokuto was actually good at what he did even when it sounded as if he was boasting most times.

Akaashi was as much the opposite of Bokuto as Kuroo thought imaginable. But Kuroo learned soon that Bokuto and Akaashi could be the way they were because they made it possible for each other. Bokuto's whims of dejection were easily quenched by Akaashi's reassurance, and Bokuto was the first to loudly defend Akaashi whenever there was as much as a hint of complaining from anyone about the circumstances of communication with a mute elf.

Kuroo stayed and learned. His training was exhausting, and disheartening at times, but he loved it anyway. When it was his turn to travel with the journeymen he looked forward to it with excitement, eager to expand whatever skill and knowledge he could. And since his first year overlapped with Bokuto's last, Kuroo didn't have much opportunity to miss his friends who stayed behind.

And then he ran into Kenma.

Kenma who was all by himself. Kenma who seemed so scared of the world but was far from weak. Kenma whose silence was calm and comfort.

Kenma who was a mystery that didn't want to be discovered.

“Trying to befriend him is like trying to pet a cat that keeps shrinking away under your touch,” Kuroo whined one evening before Bokuto could make him shut up.

“So why do you keep trying?”

“I don't know, Bo,” Kuroo snapped and waved his fork around. “Why does one keep trying to pet cats?”

“Geh--” Bokuto spluttered around a bite of his dinner. “Owls are better than cats.”

“Beyond the point!”

Bokuto laughed, loud and uninhibited. “Then try to win him over him with food!”

“What--”

“I mean, wouldn't you like it if someone brought you your favourite snacks?”

“Hm...” Kuroo made. Bokuto had a point. Now he only needed to find out what Kenma liked. He could probably ask him.

“I'm telling you, it _always_ works. Gets people on your good side.” Something about Bokuto's smile was off, a little too bright, a little too innocent.

“Hold on...” Kuroo said slowly. “That one time, when there was a dent in my hammer, and you showed up at my door with a tray of... and-- _Bokuto, I'm going to skin you alive!_ ”

“It wasn't my fault, I swear I didn't do it on purpose!”

Kuroo punched his arm. Hard. Bokuto tried to take a piece of meat from Kuroo's plate nonchalantly. Kuroo smacked his hand away.

“Stop giving me that look, there's no way you're still hungry!”

Bokuto let out a small whimpering sound.

“Fine, you idiot,” Kuroo said and shoved some food at his mouth, smearing it all over his cheeks without caring.

“-ou -e -es--”

“Maybe swallow if you want me to understand.”

Bokuto choked laughing and nearly spat out most of what's been in his mouth.

Hopeless, Kuroo thought and patted his back deftly, rolling his eyes. “Inhaling your food won't help either.”

Bokuto coughed some more, and then asked, “So, when can I meet your friend?”

“Huh?”

“That Kenma boy you won't shut up about! I wanna see what he's made of.”

“No way! I wanna _befriend_ him, not scare him off!”

Bokuto let out an undignified squeak.

But Kuroo hardly heard him; he couldn't stop thinking about scenarios in which Kenma was part of his everyday life and circle of friends.

 

* * *

  


Kenma had gotten used to it surprisingly fast. Kuroo would come to spend his free days with him. Every seventh day held the promise of an afternoon spent in Kuroo's company and that was a steady concept Kenma could easily integrate into his life's routine.

Kuroo even helped him out sometimes, collecting firewood or whatever task there was Kenma could be helped with. And Kuroo would ramble on while working, or be contently silent next to Kenma; either was comfortable.

“Say, Kenma,” Kuroo began one day. He often started conversations that way, mostly when he had thought of another detail he could tell Kenma about. “Have they told you about osanwé? It should be instinct to our kin, but you've been surrounded by humans for so long I'd reckon you never realised.”

 _Our kin_. Kenma still threatened to blush whenever he heard the words. It was a new feeling to be included in something. It was annoying to not be in control of his reactions to it.

He shook his head. When he looked at Kuroo it was with curiosity. “I don't know what that is.”

“It's a natural ability, much like hearing or seeing. As Children of Ilúvatar we are spirited, and that is something you can sense in others.”

Kenma tilted his head.

Kuroo tried a simpler explanation then. “It's a bit like the feeling when you're in a room full of people and you close your eyes but you can sense that the others are there even when you can't see or hear them.”

“I avoid being in rooms full of people.”

Kuroo laughed, but his eyes held fondness. “I thought you would.”

There was another pause. Kenma waited.

“I'm not sure if this is common,” Kuroo began, “but when I was little and acted purely on instinct, I would often get a prickly sensation between my shoulder blades at the touch of another's mind.”

Oh. That made more sense to Kenma. He thought about when Kuroo had first greeted him and taken his hand, and he remembered the strangeness that had made his skin crawl.

“Well, but that is just the diffused idea of it. When you focus on it you can get a clearer picture. It's easier when you're close, like family or friends, and for lovers they say it's as natural as breathing.”

Kenma scrunched up his face. Sharing his mind with anyone didn't sound like the most appealing of ideas, no matter who they were.

“So, what do you say? Curious?”

He was, but not in the way Kuroo intended. “Does it also work... backwards?”

“Backwards?”

Kenma worried his lip with teeth. Having to explain himself made him feel antsy. “When I close my eyes I won't see. When I hide, I won't be seen. Does this... spirit-sensing--”

“Osanwé,” Kuroo corrected.

“That,” Kenma huffed. “How do I _not_ do it?”

“How do you shield your mind, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“That's considered rude.”

“I don't care.”

Kuroo laughed. “You and your logic.”

Kenma decidedly looked away.

“Just so you know, listening in on others without permission is considered even more of an impoliteness. So you'd be safe either way if surrounded by decent people.”

“Good,” Kenma muttered and didn't want to think about indecent people.

“Well, I guess I can show you how to shield yourself properly if you want that. But I think it would be better to start off by showing you what to look out for in the first place. There's no point in dodging when you don't know even what you're trying to avoid.”

And then, another thought suddenly hit Kenma and he went pale. “... does that mean, all this time... when we talked?”

“No,” Kuroo said quickly, holding up his hands appeasingly. “No, no, don't worry. I told you listening in was rude. I'd _never_. All I sense are slight shifts in mood from you, when you switch from nervous to calm to confused...”

That sounded bad enough to Kenma, and he wanted to sink into the ground.

“Actually,” Kuroo said, carefully now, “that's why I've been asking in the first place. I wasn't sure if you did that on purpose, or if it … escaped you?”

Kenma shook his head vehemently, drew his sleeves firmly down over his fingers and tried to shrink into invisibility in his shirt.

“I mean, most times, I think you're kinda shielding yourself on instinct,” Kuroo rambled on. “Not sure I'd get much from you if I tried. Not without you noticing anyway.”

_Good._

“How would I notice?”

“You … you just would? The same way you certainly hear someone when they're shouting at you.”

“But humans can't?”

“Not as distinctively as we can, no.” Kuroo shrugged. “You can sense them though. I suppose they must seem rather loud when you're not accustomed to it.”

 _That explains a lot of their unspoken loudness_ , Kenma thought faintly and was once again glad for the purposeful distance he had put between himself and the other villagers. No need to expose himself to any hostility if it could’ve been avoided.

“Ah well,” Kuroo made after a while. “I can show you another time if you get curious.”

Kenma nodded, didn't trust his voice enough to answer. Then his stomach gave a loud growl.

“Hey, how about something to eat?” Kuroo asked and he sounded glad for the switch of topics as well. He was reaching into his bag. “I got these from one of the vendors at the market this morning. Maybe you can make some tea to have with?”

Kenma cast a glance at what Kuroo held out and felt his eyes growing wide. “Apple pie...”

“No good?”

“Don't be stupid,” Kenma huffed and felt his cheeks heating up. “I like apple pie just fine.” An understatement; apple pie was Kenma's favourite. But Kuroo didn't need to know that.

Kuroo laughed, wild and joyful, and announced, “I'll bring you apple pie until you'll get sick of it!”

“Idiot,” Kenma mumbled and wondered if Kuroo could sense how contagious his happiness was.

Kenma watched the tea leaves float around in fresh boiled water, clear liquid slowly tinting green. He and Kuroo were sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, and Kuroo talked about something that happened in the workshop this past week. It felt comfortable.

Kenma had been hesitant to let Kuroo inside his house at first, afraid of receiving comments of how he lived. But Kuroo had said nothing, seemed completely unbothered. Kenma had seen him glance around, knew that Kuroo must have noticed the poor conditions in which he spent his days, but Kuroo had wordlessly accepted it. Kenma felt gratitude. Kuroo was so easy to have around.

Kenma was gingerly picking at his pie, neatly separating the apple filling so he could alternate between fruit and dough as he pleased when eating. Kuroo was happily stuffing pieces of apple pie into his mouth, carelessly getting crumbs all around his lips. Kenma had never seen anyone this enthusiastic when eating; it looked so silly Kenma had to hide his smile in his teacup.

They went outside again after that, and Kuroo plopped down on the grass under Kenma's apple tree, sprawling lazily. “So, this farm is all yours?”

Kenma nodded mutely and sat down next to him, legs folded under himself.

“Where are the animals?”

Kenma rolled his eyes. “There are some chickens in the backyard.”

“No other animals?”

“I'm not good with animals. I won't keep the chickens much longer either, they're getting old.”

“So you... what, trade them for younger ones?”

“I'll sell them at the market. They're not really worth that much when they're old. The coins will buy some spices, maybe have some tools fixed, get my knives sharpened properly.”

“Hmm,” Kuroo acknowledged him. “I'm learning more about you by the minute... no people for you, no animals either.”

Kenma shrugged. “I can handle plants.”

Somehow, that made Kuroo laugh and curl in on himself to look at Kenma. But then he closed his eyes again and they fell into a comfortable silence.

Kuroo looked content, peaceful. Kenma watched him and thought about all the times Kuroo had accommodated his need for distance and been accepting of his strangeness without anyone telling him to. And now there was something Kuroo had obviously wanted and Kenma felt hesitant about rather than strictly opposed to it. He owed him at least a try, didn't he? Wasn't this part of a friendship? Surely, Kuroo wouldn't be too upset if this... _thing_ didn't work for Kenma, right?

“You can show me now,” Kenma said quietly lest his unsteady voice betrayed him, and half hoped that Kuroo wouldn't hear.

No such luck.

Kuroo sat up. Of course, he instantly knew what Kenma meant. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Kenma lied and decided to passively blame the apple pie for wanting to try.

“Right, uh.” Kuroo could sound so dumb sometimes. It made Kenma feel better. “I'm not sure how... Oh, I know! Let's try this!”

Before Kenma could as much as blink Kuroo had reached out and taken his hand between both of his own. Kenma hissed. “Kuro, what are you--”

The words died in his throat when he felt it. There was the prickling sensation at the back of his neck again, the same thing he had felt when he had first met Kuroo. But this time there was something more to it, something intense as it was glancing, something Kenma could recognise the same way he was able to recognise a familiar scent without being able to actively recall it when it was absent.

And then he knew. This was the touch of Kuroo's mind, distinct and unmistakable.

Kenma stared at him with wide and terrified eyes, too shocked to move or speak. Something within him snapped and there was a sudden distance between them even Kuroo still had Kenma's hand securely clutched between his own. Somewhere beneath his turmoil of emotions Kenma thought all too rationally that at least he now knew how to successfully shield himself.

Kuroo pulled back.

“Kenma, what...” he whispered. He swallowed hard and forced his words out between gritted teeth. “What happened to you here?”

Kenma could only guess that he was referring to something he might have sensed when they touched. He couldn't speak. Kuroo had seen the darkness within him. Kuroo had seen all the things _wrong_ with Kenma. Kuroo would run, Kuroo would seek safety rather than stay with Kenma, Kuroo would--

Kuroo's arms wound around Kenma tightly, stifled the panicked sob that threatened to wrench free from deep within his chest.

Kenma heaved a deep breath, the panic spiking.

But Kuroo didn't leave him. He only held him securely against his chest. Kenma usually hated such contact, hated how vulnerable it made him feel. He still hated it now, but this was bearable.

Bearable turned into acceptable, turned into comforting. Kuroo didn't move, didn't make to pull back, didn't do anything unexpected. And then Kenma relaxed against him with a long exhale. Kuroo's embrace was a strangely safe place to be in, strange like everything else about him.

Kuroo said nothing about Kenma's tears, only wiped them away with his sleeve and replaced them with a soft promise of his own. “I'll protect you. Always.”

And there, caged in the soothing circle of Kuroo's arms and moisture dripping from his lashes, Kenma had never longed for anything in his entire life as much as he longed for Kuroo's promise to remain true.

What a lonely place it was, this realm of tears; but how much more comfort there was in not being alone, in being held by the one person Kenma allowed to be held by, allowed himself to trust.

This was all the apple pie's fault.

 

* * *

 

Winter came and Kuroo had to leave, promising that he would be back next year. And that was all right, Kenma had been alone his entire life, he could wait for one season easily enough.

When he sat by the fireplace and drew into the ashes it was Kuroo's face he saw when he opened his eyes from his trance. “Kuro...” he whispered into the empty room and traced his name into dust.

He wondered if Kuroo missed him, too.

 

* * *

 

Spring brought heavy rains and made Kuroo's messy hair dripping wet when he waved at Kenma with an enthusiastic yelp upon his return.

Kenma had forgotten how loud Kuroo was. He composed his face before Kuroo could see his smile.

“You remember!” Kuroo cried out with excitement when Kenma greeted him using words Kuroo had taught him the previous year.

“Of course I remember.” As if he could ever forget. Kenma blinked in surprise when he realised that within the first moments of being reunited with Kuroo he had already spoken more words than during the entire winter without him.

Kuroo laughed and reached out to ruffle Kenma's hair. “Are you going to let it grow out?” he asked. “I think longer hair would suit you.”

Kenma's heart skipped a beat or two, and there was a strange heat crawling up his neck and cheeks. He slapped Kuroo's hand away. “You're so embarrassing, Kuro.”

But Kuroo laughed. It was nice to have him around again.

The year went on just like the last. Days were measured by the idiotic things Kuroo did and the way his face lit up when Kenma gave him a rare smile.

“Say, Kenma.” They were sitting under Kenma's apple tree again. “What is it that keeps you in this place?”

“Habit.” Kenma shrugged. It was true. “There's no other place for me to go.” Also true.

“Oh,” Kuroo made. “I was just wondering...” And his voice sounded oddly soft and aloof compared to his usual manner of speaking. “Are you happy here?”

Kenma looked away. “I'm not unhappy enough to leave.”

Kuroo didn't buy his lie, Kenma could tell from the way his eyebrow twitched upwards. But he said nothing about it.

“Your window is broken,” Kuroo pointed out after a while.

“I know.”

“Aren't you going to fix it before winter?”

Kenma shrugged. Fixing would require having people come to his house, measure up and plan and replace the broken glass. Kenma would rather just invest in another thick blanket to sleep and huddle under in order not to freeze too much.

Kuroo looked at him and there was mild concern in his expression.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can,” Kuroo said but when he smiled it didn't reach his eyes.

“You are strange today,” Kenma told him.

Kuroo sighed and let himself fall backwards onto the grass, his arms crossed behind his head. “I miss my friends. I miss home. There are others, but it's not the same. I don't know how you do it, being here all by yourself,” Kuroo admitted. “I don't think I could.”

Kenma blinked down at him. “It's easier when there is nobody to miss.” _As it used to be,_ he thought privately but didn't say.

“My friends,” Kuroo said after a while, “were what kept me sane when I first left home to train with the blacksmiths. I wonder how... if you would-- Bokuto said he wanted to meet you.”

Kenma winced.

Kuroo laughed. “No need to scrunch up your nose like that, he's not around this year.”

“But he was last year?”

Kuroo nodded. “I think you'd get along better with Akaashi out of the two of them. He's … quiet. Not entirely by choice though. He can't speak; there's been an accident when he was younger, and now he communicates with signs and gestures. Bokuto swears that Akaashi's family line reaches back to the Hidden City of Gondolin and their king's household.”

“Does it?”

“No idea,” Kuroo admitted easily. “But it's sounds like a plausible enough story.”

Royalty sounded like a rather tedious concept to Kenma. “Would it even matter?”

“Probably not. Well, at least it's not what makes him a great person.”

“And Bokuto?”

“His family's from Eregion as far as I know. They were miners and so was Bo until he decided that he'd rather spend his days beating metal into shape.” Kuroo grinned, fondness visible in his eyes.

“He's loud, but not threateningly so. Last year, he volunteered to pierce my earlobes, but Akaashi wouldn't let him and did it himself. Was probably a good idea. Bokuto freaked out quite a bit when there was a drop of blood.”

Kuroo kept talking about them for a while longer, small stories about where they lived and the nonsense his blacksmith friend and he got up to when nobody stopped them. Talking seemed to drain his earlier sadness, replacing it with fondness.

Kenma listened, and tried to be happy for Kuroo. And he thought he was; but there was also a tightness in his chest when he heard Kuroo talk so and it took Kenma a while to figure out what that feeling was.

 _Jealousy,_ he realised. Jealousy of being a meaningful part of Kuroo's life.

Come winter Kenma sat by the fire and contemplated the old stories his foster parents had told him many years ago.

In those stories love had often been defined as something that made a person willing to die for the one they loved. Kenma had always found that incredibly stupid. There was no value in dying.

But when Kenma thought about Kuroo he found himself willing to keep living. What a strange thing to feel, what a wonderful ache to want to be alive.

 

* * *

 

When he was back with his old friends, Kuroo let Bokuto drag him to the taverns and hang out there with too much alcohol and food until his mind would spin. But it didn't take the edge off, and Kuroo's restlessness refused to leave him.

“This sucks,” Kuroo whined loudly and to nobody in particular.

“Naww,” Bokuto made, grinned and leaned in closer, drunkenly. “Akaashi also does sometimes, but I won't complain.”

“Gah, Bo!” Kuroo shoved him off, spilling beer all over the front of his tunic. “I haven't had enough of this human piss-water yet to find it funny.”

“You're no fun to drink with.” Bokuto pouted. “Next time I'm taking Akaashi with me.”

Kuroo laughed despite himself. “I'm only here because you said Akaashi was no fun to drink with!”

“It's true!”

“Now which is it? You're not making any sense, idiot.”

“I make plenty of sense! I never get all vague and weird when there's something I need to complain about.” Bokuto pouted.

Kuroo let out a long sigh. “It sucks _because_ ,” he reiterated. “...because I miss my friends when I'm out there, but when I'm here I miss Kenma. I hate this.”

Bokuto nodded wisely. His mouth pulled into a line like it did when he was thinking hard. “When you say your name backwards it sounds like a burp.”

Kuroo stared at him incredulously.

“Bwahaha,” Bokuto laugh-snorted all over their table.

Kuroo huffed another sigh and started wondering if he'd always been doing that or if sighing was a habit he had unconsciously picked up from Kenma. However, that particular trail of thought did not help. At all.

Better to go home, Kuroo decided. So he got up, dragging Bo with him and ignoring his whining.

“Here, I'll leave this in your care,” Kuroo said and shoved Bokuto forwards when Akaashi opened their front door.

Akaashi ducked aside to let him inside.

“Bed, bed, bed,” Bokuto sang tunelessly as he wandered off. He was so easily distracted, Kuroo envied him some days.

Akaashi turned to make a hissing and clicking sound after him.

Bokuto giggled. “Bath, bath, bath,” he changed his chanting and disappeared into the bathroom.

Akaashi faced Kuroo again and motioned a quick apology.

“Not your fault. Just remind me to never talk to him about anything important again when he's like that.”

Akaashi nodded. “You miss your friend?”

The slump of Kuroo's shoulders was answer enough. Somehow, Akaashi always knew.

“Perhaps, one day, you won't have to anymore.” Akaashi's face was calm and composed as ever, but in Kuroo's semi-drunken mind it seemed like there was a hint of a smile curling at the corners of his lips. “I wouldn't mind meeting him.”

“I wish...” Kuroo said with a wry smile, and then he turned and left. If the previous weeks were any good indicator then sleep was the best solution to his current state of mind. There was not much point in longing for something he couldn't have.

Or some _one_.

 

* * *

 

In spring, Kuroo was there again with Kenma. It was normal, and Kenma liked it that way; he found that existing really wasn't as terrible when he had something to look forward to. And so the year kept going on much like the last.

In summer, Kenma let Kuroo talk him into strolling around the riverside. There were wild poppies growing; Kenma remembered how he used to watch them sway in the wind when he had still been shorter than the plants themselves. Together they sat down and watched the water ripple and lap against stones and weed.

Kuroo talked about something or other. There was a mention of metal alloys and patterns and strict work sequences, and Kenma understood none of it. But he liked hearing Kuroo be enthusiastic about it, enjoyed how his voice's tune was happy and excited.

Kenma kept his hands busy while listening; he was weaving together reed and flowers. And after a while there was a comfortable silence between them. Kenma turned to face Kuroo and unthinkingly, in the spur of the moment, he lifted his hands with the wreath he had created and placed it on top of Kuroo's messy hair.

Kuroo blinked at him, and then his mouth split into a lopsided grin. “You crowned me,” he snickered. “Bokuto would be so jealous because I get to be a prince and he doesn't.”

“You're such an idiot,” Kenma told him softly and let out the breath he hadn't been aware of holding.

“I might be an idiot, but at least I'm their prince.” Kuroo was cackling, and his crown threatened to fall with his body rocking from it.

Kenma averted his eyes. _Prince_ , Kuroo had said.

Kenma wanted to disagree with the word when Kuroo was so rogue and savage and wild. But he couldn't. Not when Kuroo was also kind and devoted and proud of all the seemingly insignificant things that made his life important and brilliant and worthwhile. And he was beautiful in his very own way. There was a unique beauty in Kuroo's natural state of dishevel, in the way his honest smile lit up his entire face, in the way he held his head up even when he talked about his own failure.

He might not have been a prince, but to Kenma Kuroo looked worthy of his crown.

Then Kenma felt a touch at his hair and had to restrain the urge to flinch away. When he looked up he was met with the gold of Kuroo's eyes and the sight of his lips working around a gentle smile.

“Poppies,” Kuroo said, and there was another touch to Kenma's hair as Kuroo placed one of the flowers behind Kenma's ear, fingers lingering just a little, just enough to lightly graze the curve of his jaw. More than enough to make Kenma's skin crawl with an indiscernible heat.

“Kuro, you're so embar--” he began, mostly to distract himself and cover up the way his mouth wanted to twist into a smile. But--

“Hush you,” Kuroo made, and pressed his finger flat against Kenma's lips. “Don't say it. If I think you're beautiful then it's not your call to try and change my mind. You find me embarrassing for saying it out loud, but I wish you would believe me instead.” Kuroo paused then, only a bit, and when he spoke again there was open tenderness in his voice. “You're beautiful, Kenma, body and mind, don't even consider me feeling any other way.”

Kenma pulled back from his touch, squirmed away from Kuroo's gaze, couldn't stand the heat he saw in Kuroo's eyes, couldn't stand the tightness he felt tugging in his own chest. Beautiful had never been a word Kenma would have applied to himself, and yet…

And yet he wanted to believe Kuroo’s words, with every fibre of his being.

He wanted Kuroo to keep looking at him as if he was beautiful, as if he was the center of his focus. As if he meant the world to him.

He wanted to be significant to Kuroo the same way Kuroo was to Kenma.

But then the moment was over as quickly as it had started and Kenma blinked away the haziness of his mind and tried to focus when Kuroo told him how one of the younger apprentices almost smashed his own thumb with a misplaced file.

The year went on, leaves were just starting to turn golden, and Kenma already dreaded winter. But as long as he had the next spring to look forward to he could manage. As long as Kuroo would return.

 

* * *

 

Another long winter night and Kuroo found himself seated comfortably between Akaashi and Bokuto by their fireplace. They kept some conversation but Kuroo wasn't paying attention.

He stared into the fire and wondered if Kenma sat by the fire as well. He looked out of the window and wondered if Kenma could see the stars. He leaned back against the cushions and wondered if Kenma had enough warm blankets to keep himself comfortable.

The longer Kuroo thought about it, the more he realised one thing. In these past years, Kenma's happiness had become his first priority, his main interest. He still loved everything else, but he cared for Kenma so deeply that imagining him unhappy was enough to make his chest ache.

And right now, during another long and cold winter, Kenma was all alone and there was nothing Kuroo could do about it.

But Kenma had smiled when Kuroo had given him apple pie, and smiled when Kuroo had placed a flower in his hair, and Kenma had smiled when--

Akaashi's hand on his shoulder pulled Kuroo out of his thoughts.

“Huh?”

When he turned Akaashi was looking at him in a way that was a strange mix of concern and annoyance only Akaashi was capable of.

But at his other side Bokuto was laughing. “You have it pretty bad for that boy.”

Some noise escaped Kuroo. He thought it was probably what shrugging would sound like if it had a sound assigned. He didn't even question how Bokuto knew what he had been thinking about.

“Akaashi was totally having it bad for me too. You should have seen him in the beginning! And look how calm he is now, there's still hop—”

Kuroo punched his chest lightly. Akaashi covered his grin with his hand. “We tell different versions of the same story,” he motioned.

Bokuto seemed completely unperturbed by this. “Are you finally going to take him with you next year? You know it's your last, no more travelling after that.”

Kuroo didn't need to be reminded. The thought alone was enough to churn up despair deep within him.

“Have you asked him?” Akaashi wanted to know.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I...” _I am scared to the bone that he will say no._ “... it didn't come up.”

“You're a coward.” Bokuto frowned. “What's there to lose?”

“What's there--” Kuroo jolted upwards and stared at his friend incredulously. “What's there to lose? There is _everything_ to lose, Bokuto. This is Kenma we are talking about.” And then he sunk back down and buried his face in his hands. “I can't mess this up, I can't. He's all by himself and I get so angry thinking about him being miserable. I can't sleep, I can't stop thinking about him, I-- I think I'm going to lose my mind.”

“You act like you already have,” Bokuto provided, never one to sugar coat his words.

But Kuroo hardly heard him. His heartbeat was drumming loudly in his ears and the room started spinning between his fingers.

Bokuto caught him.

The thing was, despite all his loudness and usually rough motions, Bokuto was really good at giving the most reassuring hugs. Kuroo often thought it might be because he got so easily dejected himself that he seemed to instinctively know when a friend was in need of support. But his motives didn't really matter when Kuroo slumped forward against Bokuto's sturdy chest and let himself be enveloped in strong arms, all warmth and comfort. Bokuto rubbed a soothing circle onto his back, right between his shoulder blades, and it was impossible to not feel cherished and as if, somehow, everything would turn out all right in the end.

 _I won't cry, I won't cry, I won't--_ Kuroo thought with determination and bit his lip. But then Akaashi reached out and pet at his hair, calmly carding his fingers through the stubborn locks, and that's all it took for Kuroo to melt into a puddle of tears in his best friends' arms.

 

* * *

 

Another spring went by with regular visits from Kuroo.

“No more potatoes on that field?” he asked curiously.

Kenma shook his head.

“Naww,” Kuroo made. “I thought you liked them.”

“They're alright.”

“Then why didn't you--”

“Basics,” Kenma cut him off and idly threw a handful of grass at him. Kuroo was laughing. “The soil needs to rest, potatoes won't grow as well several years in a row on the same field.”

That explanation seemed to satisfy Kuroo somehow, or at least didn't prompt any more questions. Kenma raised his hand to sprinkle him with more grass. But Kuroo reached out and wrapped his fingers around Kenma's wrist, lingering and warm.

Kenma looked away, but he allowed the touch. Somehow, he didn't mind. Somehow, it even felt nice.

In summer, Kuroo fell asleep in the shade of a tree. He had been working more this year, been worn out more.

Kenma reached out to lightly trace the veins on Kuroo's hand with his fingertips. He lay down next to him and looked up at the light filtering through the leaves above them. It was so easy to close his eyes and relax in Kuroo's presence, so easy to drift into sleep. When he woke it was with Kuroo's arm wound around his waist, and Kenma was surprised at himself for how little concern that brought on.

He disentangled himself carefully, without waking Kuroo. If Kuroo woke, he would apologize. But Kenma didn't want him to be sorry, not for this.

And when autumn started Kuroo seemed to be set on spoiling Kenma.

Apple pie was a luxury good to Kenma, not something he could or would afford often. And here Kuroo was, giving it away freely. “You shouldn't--”

“Nonsense,” Kuroo insisted. “I get to spend my allowance on whatever I want, and I happen to want to share this apple pie with you. Now don't act as if you don't want it.”

Kenma sighed. There was something off about the way Kuroo smiled, but he looked calmer when Kenma accepted the treat.

The leaves were starting to turn golden and Kenma already dreaded winter. He wanted to be certain that Kuroo would return next spring, wanted to rely on it. But Kuroo's smile was still lacking warmth, and even when he held Kenma's hand and interlaced their fingers he was closed off. Kenma could tell that Kuroo had something on his mind.

He wished Kuroo would tell him. If it was himself, Kenma thought, he'd hate being asked to explain himself. So he said nothing, and waited.

“Say, Kenma,” Kuroo began, at last, but now even his voice sounded not like himself. The Kuroo Kenma knew wasn't prone to sadness or despair.

“Hm?”

“I have a confession to make. I think.”

“You think?” Kenma twitched nervously, and wondered if maybe, somehow, there could be another connotation to the word _confession_ that didn't relate to admitting to a former secret.

“I'm very committed to my apprenticeship,” Kuroo said, slowly. He didn't look at Kenma when he spoke. This was bad. Normally, Kuroo always looked at him.

“I know.”

“I have-- When I could-- If--” he shook his head, started anew. “There's a schedule laid out for me. What I need to learn and … where I need to be.”

Kenma swallowed thickly as he felt panic burn through him. No, this couldn't mean what he thought it meant. It couldn't!

“Next year, I-”

“No!” Kenma hissed the word out between clenched teeth.

Kuroo looked at him then, finally, gold eyes wide with surprise and hurt.

“Kenma, you haven't even heard what-”

“No,” Kenma repeated, stubbornly, as if that would change anything. He grabbed at Kuroo's sleeves.

“Kenma, listen--”

But Kenma couldn't see, couldn't think. “You don't get to-” he heaved breath in large gulps to try and keep the panic at bay. “You don't get to leave me behind.”

“Kenma, I-”

“You promised!” Kenma heard himself say. He usually had trouble making demands. But this was different. This was something he felt he had a right to. This was important. “You promised you wouldn't. You _promised_!”

“Yes.” Why was Kuroo smiling? What was there to be so happy about? “Come with me?” Kuroo whispered and Kenma's own voice broke on a sob.

Before he could even begin to realise, before there was even remotely enough time to process the meaning of Kuroo's offer, Kenma was in Kuroo's arms. For a long moment it felt like the world simply didn't exist, or didn't matter, or both. Everything was condensed to Kenma's still panicked heartbeat and Kuroo's breath against the side of his face.

“Will you, please?” Kuroo asked, voice dripping with uncertainty and hope.

Kenma nodded, but couldn't speak. He felt Kuroo's hold tighten around him. He wound down slowly, so very slowly, but there was no rush.

“Kenma,” Kuroo said again when Kenma's breathing had evened out. “I think there is something you should know when you come with me...”

 _When_ , he had said. Not _if_.

Kenma pulled back to look at him. “You think?” he teased and almost managed to smile. Kuroo could be such an idiot.

Kuroo's hands were shaking when he brought them up between them. “May I... show you?”

Kenma nodded, blinked away his anxiousness.

“Right,” Kuroo whispered, voice wavering uncharacteristically, and he grazed his fingers over Kenma's cheeks. “Trust me?”

Kenma did.

He recognised Kuroo's mind immediately when it touched his. Kenma forced himself to remain still and not recoil, and once he had calmed himself enough to pay attention he realised that all Kuroo did was share a part of himself with Kenma. It was fuzzy and soft around the edges, but there was warmth directed at him and the definite feeling of something Kenma had only recently learned – what it felt like to want to keep living for someone.

“So it's not just me then...” he murmured, more to himself than anything.

Kuroo said nothing, but he looked at Kenma for a long while before leaning down to touch his lips against Kenma's forehead in a tentative kiss.

Kenma's cheeks were burning, but he forced himself to not look away.

“I want to kiss you,” Kuroo said.

“You just did.”

Kuroo's face flushed worse than Kenma's felt. _Justice,_ Kenma thought.

“You know how I mean,” Kuroo tried again.

Kenma had thought about it before, knew that kissing was something people did to express their affection. He had never had any strong feelings about it, was neither repulsed nor especially excited by the idea. And how should he be when it was something he had never done before?

“Then maybe you should,” Kenma told him.

Kuroo’s eyes fluttered closed when he leaned in, and Kenma briefly wondered if he was required to do the same. But it probably didn’t matter, and before he could think any further he felt Kuroo’s lips press against his own and--

 _Soft_ , Kenma thought irrationally.

Kenma could feel Kuroo’s breath rushing hotly against his skin, bridging the smallest of spaces between their lips as he pulled away just a fraction. And suddenly Kenma realised that he didn’t want Kuroo to pull back already. Kenma should reciprocate in some way, shouldn’t he? Kuroo’s bottom lip seemed like the obvious aim to Kenma; he was shorter than Kuroo after all, and it was what he could reach best and --

Oh, now _this_ was fun. Kuroo had let out a small gasp and his fingers twitched slightly, tightening their gentle grasp on Kenma’s cheek. And then--

Yes, that was _definitely_ Kuroo’s tongue tracing over Kenma’s lips.

Kenma didn’t even question himself before copying Kuroo’s motions. He only faintly wondered why he couldn’t breathe evenly and why his skin burned under Kuroo’s touch. And in the end, he did allow his eyes to close and fully give himself to sensation.

When Kuroo pulled back again he looked at Kenma as if he couldn’t believe what had happened. The rich blush on his face was so rewarding. And then he snickered and said, “Even better than I imagined. I think I'm going to want to do that more often from now on.”

Kenma's breath hitched again.. “You're so embar-”

But he was shushed with another quick kiss. Kuroo flashed him his usual grin, all teeth and squinted eyes. “You still like me enough to come with me.”

And Kenma couldn't deny it even for a second, not when his mouth pulled into a smile without his doing.

“Well,” he said. “You're going to have to help me carry some things then.”

“Carry?”

“To the market. I'll sell whatever there is that still has some value. Travelling sounds expensive.”

Kuroo let out a flustered laugh and ran a hand through his hair. “I... yes. But just so you know, I got you covered. I've been meaning to ask you to come with me since... uhm. A long time. So I started saving up, just in case you'd say yes. We'll have to share a horse though.”

Kenma looked down at his hands. “That's fine. I don't know how to ride one anyway.”

Kuroo laughed, but it was the reassuring kind of fond laugh he did sometimes.

“And,” Kenma began, hoping that Kuroo could pick up his meaning, “you can do that more often. I wouldn't mind it.”

The brightness in Kuroo's eyes told him that he understood.

 

* * *

 

Kuroo watched with fascination as Kenma haggled his way through selling his possessions. Not that there was much to sell, but Kenma seemed to know the exact worth of each item and he was merciless in asking for its price.

“You're not that demanding with me,” Kuroo commented dryly.

“No,” Kenma said. “You don't owe me.”

And then they left.

Kuroo didn't know what he had expected, but Kenma wasn't one for sentimental moments. If he would miss his village he didn't say so and didn't hint so in his actions either. There was no turning around for one last time, no past memories he brought up when leaving.

The journey back was surprisingly uneventful.

“Warm,” Kenma would sometimes murmur when he curled up next to Kuroo to sleep. Kuroo wrapped his arms around him and smiled.

He kept Kenma close by, cautious of signs of distress but so far there was nothing too severe.

That changed when they reached Imladris. They unmounted and Kuroo was just about to follow the stream of people to find and greet his friends. But Kenma had frozen in place.

“Kenma?” Kuroo asked.

No response.

Kuroo stepped closer, saw the panic in Kenma's eyes, his first instinct to reach out and reassure Kenma. But he knew better than to touch Kenma when he was like this. “Too many people?”

Kenma nodded.

“Can I...?” Kuroo reached out carefully.

Kenma nodded again.

“Here, come here,” Kuroo said then, softly, and led Kenma to the side, a small alcove allowing for some rest and quiet.

“I don't... I can't--”

“Hush,” Kuroo made, feeling oddly helpless despite having expected something like this.

“I don't fit in here. I'm not like _them_.”

“Well,” Kuroo began. “I don't think they care.”

Kenma took deep breaths as if to calm himself. “What if they do?” he asked in a small voice.

Kuroo shook his head. “It doesn't matter,” he said firmly. “Besides, anyone who doesn't see your worth is clearly blind.”

That made Kenma smile in his distress. “Embarrassing,” he murmured but it came out shaky.

“And I promised to protect you.” He had an idea then. “Say Kenma, is it easier when they can't see you?”

Kenma nodded.

Kuroo extended his arm sideways to make room for Kenma. “Put your arm around me, like that,” he instructed and drew the side of his cloak around Kenma's shoulders when Kenma wrapped his arm around Kuroo's waist.

“I'll hide you from them. We'll walk together.”

Kenma said nothing, but his grip tightened and he took a step forward.

“You're safe here, hold on to me. Small steps. We'll walk together, I won't let go of you,” Kuroo mumbled incessantly and dragged Kenma forward with him, slowly, carefully, and eventually Kenma's shaking got weaker and his breathing evened out.

“Kuro?” came the small whisper.

Kuroo squeezed his shoulder in acknowledgement.

“Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

The first days had been terrible. Exhausting. Kenma felt caught in a constant loop of panic and sleep, but Kuroo never left his side and somehow that evened it out, somehow that made it bearable until he could breathe again and pay attention to his surroundings without the immense urge to run and hide.

Kenma had been nervous about meeting those who worked with Kuroo, but they seemed to be surprisingly unfazed by his strangeness.

He wondered what Kuroo had told them about him.

But Kuroo wouldn't reveal that bit, only smiled at him in that lopsided way, and leaned down for a kiss against his forehead.

He told Kenma that he looked endearing when he was pouting like this. Kenma tried very hard not to pout from then on, but Kuroo kept finding new excuses to kiss him.

Kenma was fine with this, more than fine. It meant that he got Kuroo's affection without having to ask for it. And he was glad for it, because it wasn't something he was quite ready to admit out loud to wanting.

Kuroo had him stay with him at the apprentices' quarters. There was nothing strange about it, they had shared beds and tents when travelling. Kuroo's arms were Kenma's safe cradle to sleep in at night. And he was warm; Kenma always liked that about him.

Kenma watched in fascination, paid close attention to the way Kuroo was around others. Until now he had always had him for himself, undivided attention. Everything was new here, and there were so many more people there. They talked to Kenma, some of them even reached out with glancing and curious minds. It made Kenma recoil. Insecurity threatened to overwhelm him at times, made him unsure of his place here, made him question everything.

For all he knew about the rules of this strange new place, he might have just been another addition to Kuroo’s large group of friends, just one of many. But Kenma wanted to be more, felt demanding in ways he had no idea how to express. So he was left with observing, and learning to read the signals others gave off. _No_ , he tried to calm himself, _Kuro was still_ his _Kuro_.

And he was reassured by the way Kuroo gave Kenma's hand a soft squeeze whenever he sensed his uneasiness, or how Kuroo smiled at him, still the same, still much warmer than he would smile at anyone else.

Kuroo's smiles for Kenma held more fondness than even those he had for Bokuto and Akaashi.

Kenma would have lied if he said he wasn't intimidated by the pair at first. But if anything, Bokuto and Kuroo seemed to reach new heights of stupidity when together and Kenma had no trouble seeing how they were friends or that he was glad Kuroo wasn't friends with him like _that_.

Akaashi, on the other hand, was intense in his own way.

Kenma side glanced at Akaashi. Akaashi whose raiment was ornamented and embroidered, Akaashi who wore his hair in intricate braids reaching down to his waist and adorned with silver, Akaashi who lined his eyes to enhance his dark lashes; Akaashi who was grace incarnate of a kind Kenma had never seen before.

“You can go talk to him,” Kuroo encouraged. “He's not scary.”

“I don't want to,” Kenma said stubbornly and looked away.

“Yes you do.”

Kenma sighed. “Don't.”

Kuroo snickered. But Akaashi had stepped between them already, gesturing one of his patterns to Kuroo.

“Ohhh,” Kuroo made. “Say Kenma, do you want to learn how to braid hair? Akaashi's asking for help and I'm prohibited because he doesn't like my rogue style. How unfair.”

Kenma nodded. He recognised an opportunity when it was offered.

Somehow, they worked themselves into an arrangement where Kenma would braid Akaashi's hair in front of a large mirror, and Akaashi taught him his language in exchange. Akaashi was smart. Incredibly smart. It was a setup that brought on the least possible stress.

In braiding, Kenma had something to focus on when he felt uneasy. In having to mirror his gestures, Akaashi had to concentrate on that fully. Kenma felt safe knowing that Akaashi was too occupied to inquire him.

Once it became obvious that Kenma was good with a pen and paper he found his place among those who drew the designs and drafts for the blacksmiths to execute. It was something that kept Kenma's hands steady and busy when he was nervous around others, and his fingers moved across the paper almost by themselves, almost like they once had when he used to draw into the ashes before his old fireplace.

With time the others seemed to get used to his quiet ways, didn't pry when Kenma wouldn't talk, even defended him against newcomers or those who weren't aware of this. Especially Bokuto was prone to this behaviour. It helped, in a way, or at least didn't aggravate Kenma's distress.

Kuroo was still loud and had a tendency to be obnoxious at times, especially when the other blacksmiths were around and they were telling crude jokes and calling each other names and priding themselves with being the best. All of it sounded outright ridiculous to Kenma, but he didn't say anything, just watched in mild amusement when Kuroo gave an impression of himself that he knew not to be true.

Time went on, and when Kuroo finished his training they were able to acquire their own living space. They moved furniture into the rooms, opened the windows and listened to the distant sound of a waterfall. It was already late, the sunlight dim and fading.

Kenma thought that this, maybe, was what it felt like to have a home.

Without thinking he reached up and pulled Kuroo towards him, wound his arms around him. And when Kuroo held him tight and kissed his temple, his cheek, buried his face in Kenma's neck, Kenma inhaled his scent and smiled. He smiled.

Then Kenma remembered something important, something he had kept for a long time and now finally knew what to do with.

“Wait here,” he told Kuroo and went to get his old and worn leather bag. From its inside pocket he pulled out a piece of paper which had the most significant lines written on it in Kuroo's font.

    _Kenma_

_Kuroo_

Kenma took Kuroo's hand and led him to their bedroom. He pinned the paper right above the centre of the head of the bed.

“I think this belongs here.”

Kenma heard Kuroo swallow, turned to face him. When Kuroo spoke his voice was wavering and heavy with emotion. “You... still have that?”

Kenma blinked at him, felt the blush spread up his cheeks and down his neck. “Of course,” he murmured, eyes shifting to the side. And then, silently, only for Kuroo to hear and sense, he added, _'You changed my life that day.'_

Kuroo grinned. “Didn't think you were much for sentimentality.” And he curled his hand around the back of Kenma's neck and leaned down and kissed him, a wild mix of emotions seeping through, palpable in his touch. Kenma pulled him closer, clung to him easily and Kuroo held his face between trembling hands.

“Kenma,” he whispered against his lips, but Kenma didn't need him to speak.

Kuroo smoothed his hands down Kenma's back and pressed Kenma into the soft pillows of the bed and drew the sheets tight around them.

When Kenma looked up at him, he was met with Kuroo's open gaze, vulnerable and nervous, but he was looking at Kenma as if there was nothing else in the world. And perhaps, there wasn't, at least not for the moment, but Kenma didn't have time to linger on the thought when Kuroo's mouth met his, suddenly urgent.

Kuroo slid his fingers through Kenma's hair, now long enough to fall over his shoulders, as he whispered praise and soft nothings to him between kisses. Kenma didn't quite understand the feeling that was tugging behind his navel, but maybe he didn't need to when Kuroo's hands were already there to sooth away the trembling in his chest.

“I want to touch you,” Kuroo whispered to him in the dark, and even though that sentence didn't really make sense because Kuroo _was_ already touching him, Kenma thought he understood. Words weren't working, so there was nothing he could do but nod his consent, and tentatively, carefully, return Kuroo's gesture to keep himself from falling apart.

He should probably be embarrassed, Kenma thought distractedly, when a small gasp shivered from his lips. But Kuroo's breath was coming just as ragged as his when he kissed the side of his neck, and that somehow made it easier, somehow allowed Kenma to relax into his touch.

They had been close before, spent uncountable nights sleeping in the same bed, but they had never been _this_ close. On some level Kenma marvelled at how touching Kuroo felt so unlike taking a hold of himself, and how much better Kuroo's hand felt wrapped around him than his own, but his thoughts became blurry, got pushed aside and replaced by something he had no words for, a strange heat pooling in his gut.

Kenma shut his eyes tight against the sensations that tore through his body. It was scary to be lost like this, but at the same time Kenma didn't want it to stop. He must have done something right, he thought weakly, because Kuroo was shuddering into his touch, and kissed him breathlessly. Kenma felt utterly helpless, but that was all right, because Kuroo was with him and held him securely in place as waves of pleasure washed over him and threatened to drown him. His entire world seemed condensed to this moment, to the light of Kuroo's mind right there with him, and then it melted down to nothing but breath and heartbeats and the feeling of skin against skin.

Slowly, slowly Kenma opened his eyes, and Kuroo was still there and he kept him close in the circle of his arms. His fingers were sliding through Kenma's hair again, a soothing motion. Kenma smiled against his lips in what was the echo of a soft kiss, and then he let out a small sigh and began drifting into sleep.

He was _home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (they win the slow-burn award)
> 
>  
> 
> I would also like to point you to the lovely fanart which this AU has received by the sweet [landakguling](http://landakguling.tumblr.com) which you can see [ here](http://landakguling.tumblr.com/post/144406758876/just-bought-some-drawing-pens-on-the-way-home) and [here](http://landakguling.tumblr.com/post/144322537366/snuskens-landakguling-submitted-c-r-ey-s-this)!
> 
> Thank you for reading, and thank you for all the lovely comments this fic has received so far. You're all a big source of motivation <3


	8. Eavesdropping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Thank you for bringing me here,” Suga says and turns to Daichi, and there it is again, for a fleeting moment, that unguarded bright look in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my friend [Maka](http://makariaartsabout.tumblr.com/) who keeps being an amazing beta. 
> 
> Finally a daisuga chapter, as this fic was planned to be *coughcough*. Warnings for terrible flirting, accidental PDA, and minor allusions to homophobia (because even I can only ignore LaCE for so long).

Koushi is lost. There's no other way to put it.

It was still before dawn when he got dressed and left to meet up with Daichi. A day prior they had agreed on a meeting point which sounded easy enough to remember from the description. The problem wasn't remembering, but finding it.

Imladris is built like a labyrinth, all winding passages designed to lead him astray. Koushi is used to navigate out in the open, to get his orientation from landmarks, trees, rocks. But between these high walls and never ending turns and stairs Koushi finds himself incapable of even telling east from west.

And it doesn't help at all that Tadashi and he have been relocated recently. The healers need their rooms now that winter is creeping closer and the nights are freezing, accidents happening. They are staying in the guest quarters at the opposite side of the valley, an offer Koushi had agreed to mainly because he didn't want to cause any trouble to the healers. How this puts him and Tadashi even further in debt of those granting them asylum here is something he desperately tries not to think about too much.

Another thing that does nothing to help is the fact that these corridors look different in daylight than now, lit barely by a few torches here and there; the outside light not strong enough in the early hours of the morning. Koushi is about to mutter a curse under his breath, and then he stops dead in his tracks when he hears voices. Familiar voices.

“Kuro, no,” someone says flatly, and Koushi immediately recognises the chopped accent he cannot quite place – it's Kenma speaking. “I won't be late to my meeting for no better reason than you having no self control.”

There's a sharp sound of Kuroo letting out a breath, an utterance of amusement and mock scandal.

“Besides, I already tol--”

“Hush you,” Kuroo's voice echoes as a soft whisper then.

The silence that follows is only interrupted by a huff of breath, the rustling of hands against fabric, a gasp –

“Kuro,” Kenma says again, voice less even than earlier, and Koushi gets the increasing feeling that he isn't supposed to hear any of what's happening merely a corner away from him.

Another silence. Had they left? Koushi considers walking on; he doesn’t want to let Daichi keep waiting for him even longer. If Kuroo and Kenma are still there, maybe this is a safe time to stumble into the scene without raising suspicions?

Koushi peaks his head around the corner, carefully, and immediately realises two things.

First, the corridor is opening into a larger hall. Second, Koushi is definitely not supposed to witness whatever is happening between Kuroo and Kenma at the far end of the otherwise empty passageway.

And yet he can't help but stare at the scene before him.

Kenma is leaning with his back against the wall, eyes fixed on where he has his hands curled into the front of Kuroo's robes. Kuroo is hovering above him with his arm braced against the wall next to Kenma's head. Neither of them seem to have noticed Koushi, too preoccupied with one another. There's unveiled adoration and fondness in Kuroo's expression, and Kenma is blushing furiously under his gaze.

“Did you think I would forget?” Kuroo asks quietly, lifting his other hand to trace the contours of Kenma's face, taking his chin between gentle fingers, tilting his head up so he can meet his eyes.

And Kenma looks at Kuroo, as direct and open as Koushi had never seen him look at anyone.  _ Kenma must really trust Kuroo _ , Koushi realises dimly as he increasingly feels like an intruder who has stumbled upon a secret he wasn't meant to discover.

Kenma shakes his head, a small motion mostly visible through the soft sweep of his hair.

“Good.”

“It's nothing more than the recurrence of a date, Kuro. It doesn't hold any significance in itself.”

“You're impossible,” Kuroo tells him, fond exasperation palpable in his voice. “It's the day you first came here to live with me. It will never not hold any significance. I don't care about your logic of recurrences and formal words and whatever else it is that you cover it with.”

Kenma huffs out a sigh. But Kuroo is already reaching into his pocket and procuring something from within it. He unwraps soft cloth from around a piece of jewellery, and Koushi sees gold and red flickering through the torchlit hall.

“I made something for you.”

“Poppies...” Kenma blinks up at Kuroo, and the flush on his cheeks deepens impossibly.

“Will you wear them for me?” Kuroo is whispering then, his voice vulnerable, almost pleadingly so, and all of this is so terribly intimate that it makes Koushi's skin crawl with guilt for watching.

Kenma takes the clasp from Kuroo's hands, touch lingering around his fingers long enough for Kuroo to swallow thickly, and then Kenma lifts his hand to clip the gift into his hair, right above his ear.

Kuroo does nothing but look at Kenma for a long while, hand still cupping his cheek, and Kenma holds his gaze. There's the hint of a rare smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You're so very beautiful,” Kuroo breathes out, ignoring Kenma's incipient protest, and then he leans down to kiss Kenma's forehead, his temple – “ _ Mine, _ ” Kuroo murmurs – pressing his lips to Kenma's cheek, the corner of his mouth--

Koushi yanks himself away from the scene –  _ finally! _ – heart suddenly pounding very fast in his chest. Guiltily. He knows that he shouldn't have seen or heard any of this. He spins around on the spot, blindly fleeing back down the corridor that had led him there.

And then he collides with something wide and solid and nearly gets thrown to the ground from the force of it. But strong arms already catch him and keep him from falling and Koushi's mind is only beginning to catch up. He is about to murmur an apology when he hears the familiar chuckle from whom he has, quite literally, run into.

Daichi.

“Ah, Suga, there you are. I've been looking for you already!”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Daichi can't quite categorise the look on Suga's face. He looks oddly... harassed? Flustered? It's difficult to tell when Suga usually hides behind polite smiles. Daichi suddenly realises that he has hardly seen Suga's expression so unguarded, and it almost makes him blush in return.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes!” Suga squawks out, and the smile he's attempting is a bit too bright to be natural. He clears his throat. “I just--” and his voice is almost back to normal after another small cough “--kinda got lost,” he says, and lets out an endearingly embarrassed little laugh.

“Ah,” Daichi makes, dumbfounded. “It's a big place.”

“I didn't mean to make you wait,” Suga chirps, hand fluttering up to his neck, tugging at a fleeting strand of his silver hair. “I think I took a wrong turn somewhere.”

“Good thing I found you then,” Daichi concludes and belatedly realises that he still has his hands on either side of Suga's arms. He lets go of him abruptly, almost yanking his fingers away as if he had been burnt.

Suga nearly jumps at the loss of contact, then stands straight, and the flush on his cheeks spreads out to the tips of his ears.

“Are you sure nothing is wrong?” Daichi blinks at him and feels a smile spreading across his own face despite his concern. He likes the Suga he sees now, the one who is not hidden behind a carefully kept façade. This Suga is strangely charming, nervous laughter and all. He seems tangible, real.

“Definitely,” Suga says, smiling in turn. And just like that, his mask shifts back into place and the brightness in his eyes is guarded again. “Shall we?”

And so they leave together. Daichi leads them outside, explaining the path they are following in the dim morning light. They walk in silence when the path gets too narrow to walk next to each other and Daichi finds himself musing about how he and Suga had come to this point, spending leisure time together in comfortable companionship

Daichi would never have believed it after their first conversation, but as some time passes it turns out that talking to Suga is surprisingly easy, when certain topics are avoided. As long as he isn't asked personal questions about his background Suga seems more than happy to chat. He is a considerate listener, pays close attention to what others tell him and asks follow up questions when he meets them again. 

At first Daichi thought it was a simple caring matter between brothers when he heard Suga talk to Tadashi. But then the same thing happened with Tanaka, Noya, Yachi even. 

Suga genuinely cares about those around him. Daichi finds that he quite likes that about him.

Their first dinner in the Hall of Fire has probably helped Suga warm up to them all, but in the end a great deal of Suga's shell cracking open is happening thanks to Tanaka and Noya. When they are home they can often be seen goofing around with Tadashi, competing with him in silly little games and ruffling his hair joyfully when Tadashi beats them at throwing rocks at targets. And as much as Suga responds to being treated in a friendly way, he responds even more to Tadashi finding acceptance here.

It was Noya who found out that Suga used to train as one of those glaziers who are working with stained and colourful glass, tinting windows and painting pictures with their craft. Daichi still doesn't know how Noya had gotten it out of Suga, but he suspects that he has asked Tadashi who is a lot more willing to share information. On second thought, it was probably a clever thing to do, but Daichi still feels as if it is violating Suga's privacy so he tries to refrain from gathering information behind his back.

Noya, on the other hand, has no such qualms.

The day after he learned about Suga's skills he has practically dragged Suga to the glassblowers' workshop, then to the gem cutters –

– and then Kenma had kicked them out of the design galleries because, “keep the loudness outside, will you.”

Daichi smiles at the memory while they follow the meandering path further up and away from the slowly waking houses in the valley.

The crafters don't seem to have been bothered by Suga's visit at all, and he would now join them sometimes and help out with what he could – at least according to what Daichi hears about the times he is on border patrols. When he is in Imladris between shifts he usually offers to spend time with Suga.

And Suga almost always takes up his invitations with a smile and a slight bow, formal and polite and guarded, but nevertheless in a way that makes Daichi feel appreciated for his efforts. Showing Suga around, telling him about things and leading him to his favourite places is  _ fun _ . Daichi can hardly remember what he used to do with all his free time before.

Today, they are headed to one of the northern outposts of the valley. It isn't the highest or farthest, but Daichi thinks it gives the best overview of the valley. And that is the goal, seeing as Suga had expressed an interest in seeing more of the surroundings of Imladris.

Being able to view the houses from the outside and above might help to give Suga some orientation, Daichi thinks as he leads their way between rocks and bushes. He recalls Suga's flustered expression from earlier and immediately doubts his judgement.

Daichi stops every so often, making sure that Suga is still behind him. But Suga has no trouble keeping up and soon the vegetation thins out and they reach a small platform of rocky ground. A single large boulder is located there and Daichi climbs up to the top with swift steps.

Daichi turns then and reaches out, and Suga takes his offered hand with a smile, lets himself be hauled up easily. He is so lithe, Daichi hardly feels his weight.

“It's beautiful up here,” Suga breathes out, letting his eyes wander over the valley and across the ridges of the mountains in the east and south. A sudden wind blows his hair across his face and Suga reaches up to flick it away, laughing quietly but joyfully so. “Thank you for bringing me here,” he says and turns to Daichi, and there it is again, for a fleeting moment, that unguarded bright look in his eyes.

“Thank you for joining me,” Daichi replies earnestly and smiles as he stands next to Suga.

“Do you come here often?”

“Sometimes,” Daichi says. “Mostly in winter, when the sun rises late. We used to have a base camp up here, but then we re-grouped and I was positioned farther to the west with my team. I still like this spot, though. It's a good place for watching and thinking.”

“I can see that,” Suga agrees, eyes still wandering through the valley, full of awe.

“Come, sit with me,” Daichi invites him and crouches down, resting with his knees drawn up and his arms on top of them.

Suga joins him, keeps a respectful distance between them as he folds his legs beneath himself. “Earlier, when I ran into you...” he begins and gestures towards the houses down in the valley, “where exactly was that?”

Daichi points it out to him. “It wasn't so far away from where I said I'd meet you,” he adds as an afterthought. “You might have missed a turn over there--” he points again “--and ended up walking towards the forge instead.”

“The forge...” Suga echoes.

“Don't worry about it. I know it's a confusing place when you're not accustomed to it. Bokuto still gets lost sometimes.” Daichi grins at the memories of his friend's devastated expression upon losing his way repeatedly and his announcements of being “the best” whenever he finds his destination on the third try or so.

Suga manages a weak smile. “Let me guess, Akaashi's constantly looking for him?”

“You could say that, yes.”

“Sounds like Bokuto would be lost without him.”

“Quite literally. In his defence, it's mainly Kuroo's and his own pranks getting out of hand a little. Kuroo sometimes blocks doors to lead Bokuto astray of his usual routes when he gets bored. You know, they say that  _ I  _ am scary when I get angry, but you should see Akaashi. His glares are intense enough to even make Kuroo back off.”

“What an accomplishment,” Suga says dryly.

Daichi shakes his head, the grin on his face refuses to disappear.

“What an odd pair, Akaashi and Bokuto...” Suga murmurs then, sounding contemplative.

“Because they seem so unlike each other?”

“Oh no, that's not it at all. Opposites attract an all, I'm aware.” Suga's hand comes up to tuck away a strand of hair, a fluttering gesture borne from what looks like a nervous habit. “But they're not exactly making a secret out of their bond. Not that I mind, don't get me wrong. It's simply not something I'm accustomed to, not between... Not where I...”

“Ah, that, yes.” Daichi clears his throat, feeling a little slow. He hadn't expected the conversation to turn towards  _ preferences _ . “It's so normal to me that I don't usually think about it at all. I've never known these two any other way. Akaashi and Bokuto are a lot older and according to what I've heard they've taken the traditional route with exchanging vows and so on, long before I was even born.”

“Like Kuroo and Kenma?”

“Not quite.” Daichi shakes his head. “Kuroo isn't that much older than I am. He's been recruited as a blacksmith when our lords felt the war approaching and decided to stock up on weapons. One day, Kuroo showed up with Kenma by his side and declared that he'd be living with him from then on. But they've never bound themselves to each other formally.”

“As if it would be necessary, anyone can see that they're gravitating towards each other.”

Daichi huffs a laugh. “That's what I kept telling Asahi and Noya, too. And yet they wouldn't stop pestering me until I agreed to be their witness.”

“Oh poor you,” Suga mocks.

“You have no idea,” Daichi says gravely and decides to spare Suga the gory details.

Suga is giggling, a light and bubbling sound Daichi enjoys for how happy he can sound.

“But,” Daichi provides, “the reason why Kenma and Kuroo aren't pledged to each other is a different one. Kenma grew up among humans and their beliefs, our vows before the Valar are meaningless to him. Mainly, though, I think it's because the idea of having one's mind mingled with another’s isn't the most appealing to Kenma. Not even with Kuroo.”

It was supposed to sound light and untroubled, but somehow Suga's face pulls into a frown. Daichi blinks at him in surprise but Suga isn't meeting his eyes.

“Must be nice to feel safe in having a choice...” Suga mumbles then, and Daichi's heart jumps at the concern and longing in his voice. But then Suga smiles the slightest way and his gaze is piercing when he lifts his eyes. “So the rumours are true.”

“What rumours?”

“You look really funny when you're confused.” Suga is laughing and Daichi is so very relieved to hear it. “They say that in Imladris,  _ divergency _ is more easily accepted than elsewhere. They say it's not even uncommon. I think by now I've seen enough to know this to stand true.”

“They... say that?”

“Ah, Daichi, you're so naïve. Learn your history,” Suga chides with a wry smile and wraps his arms around his knees. “The circumstances under which the Lord of Imladris grew up are hardly a secret. Raised by the very pair of kinslayers that brought on his parents’ death, having his own twin brother wither and die with age by his own choice, and yet remaining nothing but humble and wise? He sure knows that there is worse to worry about than who loves who. Not all places are as fortunate as having such a leader. I doubt most places would even consider it a fortune.”

“I've never lived in any other places,” Daichi states uselessly.

“Then keep it that way.” Suga shrugs. “Though, admittedly, seeing people fuss over what the neighbours might think is quite the  _ unique _ experience.”

Daichi blinks at him.  _ Did Suga just hint...? _ Suga hold his gaze. Then his face cracks into a broad grin and he starts giggling, a light and bubbling sound.

“Daichi, Daichi,” Suga laughs and shoves at his shoulder. “That face you make when you're trying to figure out if I'm being serious or not, it's still so priceless.”

“Ah, uhm,” Daichi makes and feels his cheeks heat up. He  _ likes _ hearing Suga laugh. He  _ likes _ that Suga notices small things about him.

Then Suga tilts his head, chin resting on his knees. “I saw Kuroo and Kenma this morning, before I ran into you,” he begins softly. “Kenma doesn't let it show easily, but I think he trusts Kuroo with his life.” He pauses for a while and then he speaks again as if to himself. “It must be nice... to have someone to depend on so easily.”

“It sure seems like it, but I wouldn't know,” Daichi admits. “It's not something I can say I've experienced myself.”

“Oh,” Suga makes, and then, barely audible, but entirely serious, “that's hard to imagine.”

“Is it now?” It's Daichi's turn to laugh.

But Suga shakes his head, refusing a direct answer. “The expectations tied to it...” he muses aloud. “To never leave the other, an everlasting bond. To start a family.”

“No, no, that's not....” Daichi doesn't know what to say. “I'm not--” he interrupts himself, trying to find  _ words _ . Is this Suga's way of prying? Or is he simply thinking out loud? Daichi can't shake the feeling that they are tip-toeing around each other. And while it's making him nervous, it seems a simple amusement to Suga to see which words and hints get Daichi to crack open. Daichi is bad at this, he has never been good at taking up on hints and reading between the lines. But if that’s what it takes to get Suga to share a bit of himself with him...

“I  _ mean _ ,” Daichi begins again, and then decides to throw all caution to the wind. His own preferences aren't really something he talks about with people; they're something he has always categorised as an unimportant detail. When he continues speaking, Daichi pays close attention to Suga, to any reaction he might give away. “Those expectations don't put me off. But I've never been interested in any bond that would – or  _ could _ , rather – result in the founding of a family. If we're speaking in the traditional sense.”

Suga's face is blank as he blinks over large hazel eyes, and it takes a lot of Daichi's self-control to keep to himself and not reach out and pry. This conversation shouldn't make him so nervous, should it?

“Besides,” Daichi tries to lighten the mood, to distract from his own awkwardness, “you've seen my team. I'd argue that I'm in no need of any more children to take care of.”

It works. Suga's face breaks into a grin. “Must be tough, raising them all by yourself.”

It was silliness, light and nonsensical. Daichi finds that he quite likes it though, and disguising his curiosity with jokes is surprisingly easy when Suga reacts to them more willingly than to open questions. “You know, they say having two parents is supposed to be healthy. And since they look up to you that much, maybe you should apply for the position.”

Suga's grin turns wicked. “Oh no, what might I ever have done to deserve this honour?”

“For starters, you didn't die.” Daichi offers and Suga punches his arm without seeming offended by the suggestion. “That kinda impressed them.”

“Ah right, I almost forgot about that. Not dying. What a good skill to have.”

“See? You'd make a perfect role model.”

“Only if you keep rescuing me, I can't do that bit on my own it seems.”

“Of course, I wouldn't leave you hanging. Combined efforts of survival, it's good for the team spirit.”

Suga is shaking with repressed laughter and almost falls into Daichi's lap. Daichi doesn't mind, but steadies him with a firm grip while laughing along with him. He doesn’t even know what’s so funny, he only knows that he is happy here talking utter nonsense with Suga.

“I can't believe you accuse your friends of being idiots,” Suga says when he can speak again without giggle-snorting out the words.

“They can't quite believe it either,” Daichi offers sheepishly.

“At least they are all of age already, no need to chaperone any of your children.” Suga pokes his elbow into Daichi's ribs.

Daichi lets out a groan at his words. “Thank Eru for that. Never again.”

That throws Suga into another giggle fit.

“Just you wait for Tadashi to get all caught up in romance,” Daichi grumbles.

Suga freezes in place. “He would never!” he exclaims. “I mean, maybe one day. But not-- Not  _ inappropriately _ !” He is flailing. “Have you even seen him, Daichi? This is my innocent little baby brother we're talking about!”

“You know...” Daichi trails off, mercilessly, far too entertained by Suga's shocked face. “He's getting along real well with Hitoka.”

Suga stares at him incredulously, mouth slightly agape. “Daichi!”

“The innocent ones are often the worst,” Daichi says, mostly to distract himself from the funny tug in his chest he feels when Suga is whining his name.

“You're not making it any better.” Suga buries his face in his hands.

“Take Asahi, for example. He appears so harmless when you talk to him. But Suga, let me tell you, you wouldn't believe some of the things I've walked in on.”

Suga's groan turns into a choked laugh.

“There there,” Daichi grins, patting his shoulder. “I'm sure neither your precious brother nor Hitoka would be as bad as Asahi and Noya. I mean, that would be hard to beat. They were long above just bordering on indecency in the beginning.”

“Unimaginable,” Suga comments dryly and glares at him.

“Asahi hates when I bring it up, but it's too good blackmailing material to let it rest. Not that I'd  _ ever _ make use of it.” He coughs.

Suga grins weakly. “How mean of you, Daichi,” he chides and playfully elbows him again. “Who would have thought you to enjoy torturing your friends so much? Though, given this conversation, I should have guessed.”

“Ah, no, it's only Asahi. I'm nice to the others,” Daichi waves him off. “Asahi's a big oaf with a heart of glass. Plus, it's the poetic justice he deserves for having left our team.”

Suga gasps, all mock fearfulness. “You sure hold your grudges. I better be careful as to not upset you.”

Daichi gives him another shove, both of them chuckling and Suga leaning against his side, having given up on the previous distance between them.

They fall quiet eventually, sitting in comfortable silence and watching with their shoulders brushing as the sky brightens further. It's a beautiful gradient, the deepest blue melting into a softer purple, turning into pink until it blurs into a golden kiss on the tips of the mountains. The first rays of the rising sun peak up just then and it is as blindingly bright as it is breathtaking to watch, a soft rosy wash tinting the scene.

Daichi turns to look at Suga. His hair is bright silver mingling with liquid gold and Daichi is suddenly reminded of the stories of the Two Trees he used to like hearing so much as a child. But even more beautiful is the look of sheer bliss on Suga's face, his eyes closed, lips curved into a relaxed smile. It warms Daichi more than any ray of sun ever might.

“Only one more watch shift until Winter Solstice,” Daichi says into the silence.

“Is that how you measure time?”

Daichi chuckles. “I suppose I do. It's easier to keep track of events like that. Besides, it marks the beginning of our break time. These lands are a lot less dangerous when it's cold; dark creatures hide away in the mountains, and that usually allows for some leisure time for us guards.”

“Ah,” Suga makes and smiles to himself. “That sure sounds enjoyable.”

“Just...” Daichi adds slowly, giving Suga a grim look, “do yourself a favour and stay away from Asahi's place, at least the first couple of days. Far,  _ far _ away.”

Suga blinks at him and Daichi feels inevitable triumph well up at the obvious confusion on Suga's face. “What...” Then realisation washes over Suga's expression and his jaw drops. “Daichi!” He starts laughing. “You're the worst!”

Daichi grins back at him shamelessly. He doesn't mind being terrible sometimes, especially not when Suga gets a good laugh out of it.

“Right...” Suga says after a while. “So, Winter Solstice, huh? You said it as if it was a big event here.”

“You better believe it!”

“Bonfires?”

Daichi nods. “And that's only the beginning. There will be so much food. And the music! Saeko goes all out on such festivities with the drumming, it's spectacular. We even have a group of hunters from Greenwood who usually perform their traditional dances. You and Tadashi are going to love it!”

The expectant, hopeful look on Suga's face is so sweet, so open, Daichi almost instinctively reaches out to squeeze him in a tight affectionate hug.

“Imladris is so much bigger than anything I'm used to,” Suga says thoughtfully. “Bonfires were our way of celebrating, before. And spiced wine.” He grimaces. “Way too much spiced wine.”

“Spiced wine, eh?”

Suga shudders and grits his teeth.

Daichi makes a questioning, “hmm?” and nudges Suga for an explanation.

“They were rather strict about permitting children to join. The first year I was allowed in, old enough to drink, I mean...” Suga starts and decidedly looks away from Daichi, cheeks reddening already. “I kinda... ended up, uhm, drunkenly... kissing my best friend.”

It takes Daichi about half a heartbeat to process this, then he bursts out laughing.

Suga flicks his ear. “It was terrible.”

“Sure sounds romantic.”

“We came to the mutual agreement that it was a bad idea. He also threw up on me right afterwards.”

Daichi chokes on his inhale. He coughs, face growing red from the strain, and he hits his chest with his fist in an attempt for air.

Suga stares at him darkly. “Serves you right,” he whispers.

Daichi tries to calm his breathing.  _ 'He' _ – Suga's word still rings in his ears. Heat is creeping up Daichi's neck now and it has nothing to do with the laryngeal spasm his own spit has triggered. There's the unbidden picture of a younger Suga kissing his best friend, his male best friend, drunkenly giggling and an endearing flush on his cheeks. He hadn't been opposed to it in the past, maybe--

_ This really shouldn't be your foremost concern, _ Daichi scolds himself and, “Anyway!” he says quickly to stop his own thoughts from going in  _ that _ direction. He's in desperate need of a change of topic, so he babbles on with the first thing that comes to mind. “The week after Winter Solstice a group of travellers will leave for Lindon. I've been in touch via letter with my friends and cousins there and promised to visit soon. I think it would be a good opportunity to travel then, seeing as winter is considerably safer for travelling than any other time of year.”

“Lindon,” Suga echoes.

“It's a common route,” Daichi adds. “We have a rather close connection with the community there.”

“You...” Suga begins, trails off, tries again. “You don't happen to have heard of... if there...” He swallows heavily. “Whether they took in any refugees lately?”

Daichi shakes his head. “Not personally, no. But I'm still waiting for a reply.”

“Right... it takes time, of course,” Suga murmurs absent-mindedly, and Daichi feels the strangest guilt churning his insides. 

For a moment it had been so easy to joke around with Suga and pretend that everything was fine and that there was nothing troubling either of them. But the truth hits him harshly now, reminding him of just how troubled Suga is behind his polite smile.

“You know,” Daichi says then before he has time to overthink it. “Why don't you join me? Let's travel to Lindon together. Then you'll know for sure.”

Suga looks at him with wide eyes. “But Tadashi...”

“Ah, you don't have to decide right now,” Daichi tells him. “But my offer stands.”

“I'll... yes. I will think about it. Thank you, Daichi,” Suga says softly.

Daichi smiles at him, hoping that it looks as reassuring as he means it to be. He rubs his hands together in front of himself then, fingers already getting cold from sitting still for so long. “Shall we head back?”

Suga nods, and they both move to get up and half jump, half slide down the side of the boulder.

Daichi drops Suga off by Tadashi's room, successfully preventing him from getting lost again. He promises to be back later to pick them both up to have dinner together. They meet him with twin smiles and wave their goodbyes, and then Daichi turns and leaves.

When he steps outside, Daichi heads for a shortcut through the gardens. He almost stumbles over his own feet when he hears Tadashi's quiet voice through the open window.

“Kou?” he asks, all innocent. “Are you fond of Daichi?”

Daichi freezes in place, looks around quickly to make sure that he is alone. He knows he shouldn't be listening in, but damn it, it isn't his fault that they haven't closed the window.

Suga laughs and it sounds strained, nervous. “He is very kind to us, Tadashi, and we owe him our lives. Him and his team. Of course I'm fond of him.”

Daichi hardly dares to let go of the breath he's holding.

“No, I didn't mean like that,” Tadashi insists. Daichi desperately wishes his heart wouldn't beat quite as fast as he waits through the silence. “I meant,” Tadashi reiterates, “are you  _ fond _ of him? The way Noya is fond of Asahi?”

“Tadashi!” Suga exclaims, and Daichi can picture his shocked face too well, cheeks crimson and eyes wide, lips slightly parted.

Tadashi just giggles, and then  _ shrieks _ . “Nooo, don't tickle me. Mercy!”

Daichi still can't move, blood rushing loudly in his ears. He doesn't know how much time has passed as he listens to the sounds of their laughter slowly dying out, turning into gasping and bitten back giggling. He takes a careful step away eventually, and then another, and then –

“You know,” Tadashi's voice flutters through the window softly, “it's not a bad thing. He gets you to smile, Kou. I like that.”

And Daichi  _ flees. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (if you're wondering if mentioned best friend was Yaku, then yes, it was definitely Yaku :3)
> 
> Thank you everyone who has left comments and encouragement on this fic so far, you're a true source of motivation and I'm so flattered by your kindness!!


	9. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tadashi's voice isn't more than a whisper when he speaks at last. “I met Kei today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild update appears :3 (sorry for the long delay)
> 
> As always, my gratitude goes to [Maka](http://makariaartsabout.tumblr.com/) for being my beta and constant source of motivation and reassurance while I'm bullshitting my way through this. 
> 
> I don't think this chapter needs any warnings, so just enjoy!

Tadashi isn't surprised when he is told that his leg would never fully heal.

He isn't in pain any more, but the dragging progress of the past weeks and a great amount of gut instinct have him feeling as if things will never go back to how they used to be, even before he is approached about this by the healers.

“You will learn to compensate with time, the limp when you walk will get less visible,” Asahi tries to reassure him.

Tadashi has no trouble believing him. His leg is lacking strength and flexibility when walking, and balancing is tricky. But he is getting used to it, slowly but surely.

Hitoka starts to apologise about the fact that Asahi's and her efforts did not bring forth better results. But Tadashi won’t have that. He trusts that they have done their best, and he doesn't want them to feel sorry.

And then the topic doesn't come up again for a while.

Koushi and Tadashi move to adjacent rooms further away from the healing quarters, but Tadashi still finds himself spending a great amount of time with Hitoka - and, to some extent, Asahi - whenever he drops by to restock on the cream that soothes the ache in his leg when he overstrains by accident.

Hitoka doesn't always have time for him, but she always tries. And that is more than enough.

The nightmares become less frequent, Tadashi feels himself growing stronger. He misses home, knows they can never return, but he finds that he genuinely likes Imladris and most days that’s enough a distraction. Even Koushi is smiling and laughing again, and that is so much better than when he had seemed so devoid of all happiness that Tadashi was scared of losing him.

He is not scared now.

“Tadashi?” Hitoka asks him one day when he visits. Her voice is careful and she is fixing a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear with a star shaped clip as she speaks.

“Yes?”

“You can be honest. Are you disappointed by … this outcome?”

“I'm not,” Tadashi answers without second thought, looks at her curiously. “Why would I be?”

“Because...” Hitoka begins and trails off for a while as if to think of what exactly to say next. “It wouldn't be unusual. Ah, I mean... As healers, we often face people during the most difficult and vulnerable times of their lives. We might all work hard, those receiving help and those offering it. But sometimes... sometimes, it is not enough. Hopes can not always be fulfilled, and then disappointment is a reaction we see often. It would only be natural for you to feel let down.”

Tadashi takes a moment to consider this. He shakes his head then. “No,” he says eventually, with certainty. “I'm not disappointed. I had nothing left to lose when I came here, to be disappointed would be thankless of me.”

Hitoka blinks at him wordlessly. Her hands are flickering up to her hair again. There is something endearing about her fluttering gestures, Tadashi finds himself thinking. Most days, he sees her all calm and collected while working.

She moves to the large stone table in the middle of the room then. There's an assortment of herbs and mortars and bowls set out already.

Tadashi follows her there when she starts working on something. He's allowed to stay and watch, he knows, as long as she doesn't send him away. It's a routine they have established over the past few weeks.

The table isn't especially high, but Hitoka is so short she has to stand while working nonetheless. Tadashi smiles at the image, then he bends and leans on his elbows opposite of her, bringing his head almost level to hers.

“Is it true what you said?” she asks softly as she begins to grind dry leaves into powder. “That you had lost hope?”

Tadashi swallows. Suddenly, he is unsure of where to start. “I know that Koushi doesn't speak about this,” he begins slowly.  _ But I want you to know anyway, _ he adds in thought, just for himself. “I'm the reason why we got separated from the others.”

“During the attack?” Hitoka asks and pauses her work momentarily to listen.

“They came out of nowhere...” Tadashi shudders at the memories of screaming in the middle of the night and fire and everyone being suddenly wide awake with fear. “I was foolish. I wanted to fight like everybody else. To protect our home and defend our honour. In the last moment, I panicked and I … couldn't do it. It is one thing to hear of heroic deeds, to dream of them. But to stand there and be the one dealing the stroke that kills the enemy is something else.” He shakes his head, clears his throat. Twice. This is more difficult to speak about than expected. “There is no excuse. I thought I could be something I was not. And Koushi is the one who took responsibility for my mistakes.”

“Do you mean he knows how to fight?” Hitoka's eyes grow wide.

“Not like someone with proper training. Koushi can handle a bow and arrow; he and his friends used to go hunt in the nearby forests in their leisure time,” Tadashi explains. “We all have but a basic idea of how to spar, like children playing with sticks. There was never much need for more. But then it had to be enough.”

“Was it, in the end?”

“Better than enough,” Tadashi confirms with a wry smile. “We are still alive, after all.”

“But your brother doesn't speak of what happened,” Hitoka says quietly and picks up another handful of dry leaves, different shaped ones this time. “At first I feared he... wouldn't return to us. Asahi was worrying a lot, and when he visited even Daichi seemed... uncertain of what to do. It's not something I see a lot.”

Tadashi is quiet for a while. He isn't sure how much Koushi wants them to know, given the deliberate distance he has put between himself and everybody else. But at the same time, Tadashi wants to tell them, wants to make sure they don't worry too much. And, all brotherly respect for privacy aside, they were in this together and it was  _ his _ story, too.

“I'd rather you didn't tell this anyone else,” Tadashi says at last, feeling a little uneasy, but also a little bold; brave to finally be saying something. “I certainly don't mean to overstep any invisible boundaries my brother has drawn for himself. But there are some things I think you should know. About him. It might help, to understand more and worry less.”

Hitoka nods and smiles at him, in her ever careful way that's so soothing to Tadashi.

“Koushi has a strong sense of...” Tadashi tries to grasp at the right words, “... responsibility. He always tries his best, but not for himself. For as long as I can remember, my brother has been there for me. It's not something he does for merit, or only for me. It's simply the way he is. He feels personally responsible for the happiness and well-being of his family, his friends... anyone dear to him.”

Hitoka nods in understanding. “I can see how you two are brothers. He, too, has a big heart,” she says and reaches out to lightly squeeze Tadashi's forearm.

Her touch is soft and warm, and when she pulls back there is the faintest trace of herbal dust from her fingertips clinging to Tadashi's skin.

“Well, that is the upside of it, at least,” Tadashi adds then. “The same way I attempted to be someone I'm not when I tried to fight, Koushi tries to be something he is not. For my sake. Ever since our parents fell in the war Koushi has been my only family, and he tries to be all of them at once. There is a gap a brother cannot fill, people he cannot substitute for. I think Koushi knows this, deep down, but he still tries. Our parents are gone, and we were forced to move on. There hasn't been a single day I don't miss them. But I wish Koushi could see that he is enough as he is, being my brother.”

Hitoka is quiet for a long while after that. It's a comfortable silence, one filled with an air of understanding. Tadashi watches as she weighs her herbal powders into smaller bowls and mixes them into pasty ointments, bringing out heavy and aromatic smells from the previously scentless leaves.

“Is it like that with your leg?” Hitoka asks, picking the conversation back up.

“Huh?”

“Ah, I mean--” she interrupts herself. “What you said about your family. And that a brother is enough. Even though it's not everything you ever had.” She looks down, suddenly embarrassed. “Excuse me, I shouldn't have suggest--”

“No, no,” Tadashi reassures her quickly and tilts his head low to look at her. “You understood me fine. I might not have the best, but I have the best I  _ can _ have. If you will, Koushi is my broken leg.”

She lets out a flustered laugh, and Tadashi can't help but laugh with her. In another moment the anxious tension is gone, and it feels good to laugh about something serious as if it were silly. It somehow makes it less of a grave thing. It somehow allows Tadashi to feel better about it all.

The girl with the stars in her hair helps him heal in more than just one way.

  
  


* * *

  
  


There is a letter waiting for Daichi when he returns home from their final shift before Winter Solstice, some weeks prior to the grand feast.

“Open it!” Yui demands as he drops his bag to the ground and pulls off his boots. She has been home for a few days longer than him.

Daichi sighs. “I'll open it after I've taken a bath and had something to eat.”

Yui complains loudly and colourfully, but Daichi only laughs and decides to ignore her. True to his words, he doesn't face his cousin's neat handwriting until they are seated by the fire, food in their bellies and tea cups full and steaming.

Daichi scans the words quickly.

“Chikara is cryptic as ever.  _ 'Great news to tell you when you visit' _ ,” he quotes. “What is that even supposed to mean?”

Yui giggles.

“What.”

“Nothing,” Yui says innocently.

“It's never nothing with you,” Daichi accuses her. “You know something!”

Yui rolls her eyes at him in an overly dramatic gesture. “Brother dear, maybe it's time you get used to the idea that I know things, whereas you don't.”

Daichi sighs and thinks that he doesn't need to understand everything.

“Scoot,” Yui chirps and nestles closer to read over his shoulder.

“He's writing about how they are awaiting my visit, and saying how Kiyoko misses you,” Daichi paraphrases and winces slightly when Yui's chin is digging into his shoulder. “Oh but, here, look!  _ 'Regarding your questions about recent events; Lindon has indeed taken in about two dozens of elves from the northern settlements. I have not been in touch with any of them personally, but from what I have heard there seems to have been a string of attacks. Our scouts are out on the look for survivors and to fend off any enemies that might draw near. So far, the reports are all-clear, and there seems to be no need for any more caution than usual. However, I doubt that there is a connection between these events and the two refugees you have taken in. It is not entirely impossible, given the circumstances and poor condition you found them in... but nobody in their right mind would have taken the long route to Imladris when Lindon is within much closer reach and sought out by many others who provide the safety of travelling in a group. Although, I am hoping to know more by the time you are here.' _ Hm, and then he writes about his work, projects he's busy with. The usual.” Daichi concludes and hands the letter to Yui.

She takes it and pulls back to look at him. “He doesn't think Suga and Tadashi are survivors of the same attack?”

“Doesn't sound like it.”

“How are you going to tell Suga?”

Daichi blinks at her. “I won't. This is all speculation anyway. Chikara said himself that he doesn't know for sure. I'll tell Suga that there are refugees in Lindon, which is true, and that I don't know of their identities, which is also true.”

Yui laughs. “So protective.”

“No,” Daichi insists, “I'm merely sticking to fact. There's no need to spread gloom and doom. That's what Asahi is for.”

Yui gives him one of her pointed looks, and then they sink into a comfortable silence while she reads over the letter once more.

_ 'Dai,' _ comes the unspoken whisper after a while.

It's not at all uncommon that they reach out for each other in silence, so Daichi does nothing but lean back in his cushion and acknowledges the gesture with a nudge of his own mind. As twins, sharing their minds comes to them as easy as breathing. Distance was something they had to learn while growing up.

_ 'Dai, _ ' Yui calls to him again.

_ 'Don't butcher my name.' _

Yui giggles, but it sounds feeble, and suddenly she's leaning in and hiding her face against Daichi's shoulder. Distress is seeping through clearly now.

_ 'Hey, what now?' _ Daichi questions carefully. He is confused by this unannounced change of moods, but not overly worried. It happens, sometimes, with Yui. Daichi has learned to best stay still and let her calm down on her own.

Yui pulls back, faces him. She is biting her lip to stop it from trembling and then she blurts out a string of words, almost too fast for Daichi to process. “I'm leaving. I'm leaving, Dai, and I don't know when I'll be back. I don't know how things will be from now on. I don't know what I was thinking, I'm so scared and I haven't even told you, but I want to- I want-- I-- a-ha--  _ ha-- _ ” her words stumble into high strung laughter and topple over into a panicked sob.

She is falling forward and Daichi reaches out and holds her. He cards his fingers through her hair the same way their parents used to do for them when they were so much younger. It's a soothing motion, reminiscent of comfort and home and safety.

Eventually, Yui stops shaking. There's an onslaught of jumbled images and thoughts coming in shreds, some of them clearer than others. Daichi isn't sure if she is trying to hold back or trying to tell him something.

_ A golden forest. _

_ A memory of a smile, gentle brush of fingers, the longing to be close. _

_ Excitement and fear blurring into one, new worlds to be discovered. _

And then Daichi understands. 

“You're leaving with Akiteru.” He says it like fact, doesn't even need to wait for Yui to confirm it.

_ 'Did he ask you to?' _ he wants to know.

Yui shakes her head.

Daichi squeezes her tightly.  _ 'Good.' _

_ 'Why?' _

_ 'Because … I wouldn't like it if you went only because you're being asked. I want you to make your own decisions.' _

Yui nods.  _ 'I always do.' _

Daichi hums in agreement.

“You realise that Kei will probably begrudge you the time you get to spend with his brother,” Daichi teases after a while.

Yui snorts dismissively. “I think his animosity is easier earned than that.”

Daichi can't deny that. “Well... I suppose you'll survive the hard feelings, given the soon-to-be generous distance between the two of you.”

Yui lets out a quiet laugh. She turns slightly and slides downwards until her head comes to rest on Daichi's lap, blinking up at him. When Daichi doesn't move she takes his hand and puts it back against her hair.

Daichi chuckles. “Spoiled.”

“No idea what you're talking about,” is all Yui says and closes her eyes contently.

Time goes by as strangely as it does at night. The minutes are trickling and blurring, measured only by how the fire burns lower and lower until there's nothing left but glowing embers.

“What did Akiteru say when you told him?” Daichi asks at last, stifling a yawn.

“Not much. He tried to kiss me.”

Daichi raises an eyebrow. “Tried to?”

Yui shrugs. “I stopped him before he could. Told him he can do that when we're done travelling and he's not sick of me yet.”

“And then?”

“And then...” Yui fidgets and can't hide her grin even as she bites her lip furiously. “I... kissed him?”

“You have terrible self-control,” Daichi laughs.

Yui shrugs nonchalantly. “Akiteru didn't seem to mind.”

“What's going to happen with your team now?” Daichi asks quickly, before she can go into more detail than he wants to hear.

Yui rubs her nose. “I haven't told them yet. But I'm pretty sure I'm replaceable.”

“They might not  _ want _ you replaced,” Daichi points out.

“They're free to join me.”

_ 'Stubborn and proud,' _ Daichi thinks fondly.

“You're not cross with me?” she asks quietly after a while. “For leaving?”

Daichi shakes his head. “If anything, I'm jealous. You'll gather experience, you'll see new places. You'll... move on from what you're doing right now.”

Yui looks up at him, then she starts laughing. “That sounded like something Asahi would say.”

“That's it,” Daichi cuts her off. “You're being silly again. I'm sending you to sleep.”

Yui doesn't move to get up, only tugs at his sleeve.

This time, Daichi knows exactly what she wants. “Yes, sister dear,” he says with feigned heaviness and pushes her off his lap, “since you asked so nicely, you may sleep in my bed.”

 

Not much later they are nestled on soft pillows and under heavy blankets on either side of Daichi's large bed.

_ 'Daichi?' _ Yui nudges him silently and reaches for his hand.

“Hm?” he grumbles, already half asleep.

_ 'You'll be here when I come back, right?' _

Daichi squeezes her hand in his.  _ 'You shouldn't even have to ask that.' _

Yui lets out a quiet sigh.  _ 'Thank you.' _

  
  


* * *

  
  


Hitoka finds herself getting used to Tadashi's presence unexpectedly easily. Even after he doesn't need help anymore he shows up regularly. She understands, in a way, that there must be nothing better for him to do. From what she gathered he is only slightly younger than herself and hasn't started any training. She supposes not everyone can have an ambitious mother like herself, who propels her child to carve a path in life as early as possible. Tadashi’s days before the attack must have been leisure time, mostly, without responsibilities or duties.

So, naturally, Hitoka tells herself, Tadashi must be looking for a way of spending time when his brother is helping out in some or the other workshop.

And she doesn't mind having him around when he accompanies her to the gardens and greenhouses when she is on duty to tend to the plants. Tadashi always offers to carry the flat basket where she lays out leaves and berries and roots in neat order. It's not necessary, but she lets him since he had once told her that he likes feeling as if he is helping in some way.

So there they are once again, Tadashi by her side as Hitoka makes her round through the rows of plants.

Maybe, Hitoka thinks to herself as she is sprinkling water over a group of seedlings, he is a little lonely here. It's a delicate kind of honour to know that he choses to spend time with her.

“Are you going to be a field healer one day?” he asks, out of the blue. “Train in fighting and join a group of guards?”

Hitoka hiccups a nervous laugh at the question. “I could never!”

“Why not?”

“Oh, I...” Hitoka mumbles and quickly busies herself with some roots. She cuts them at an angle and binds them together with thin yarn.

Tadashi is still looking at her curiously when she places the roots in the basket. He's waiting for an explanation.

“It's not really something that appeals to me. Besides...” Hitoka chances a hesitant glance up at him and decides against telling him how she’s been categorically ruling out that specific line from the start. “Besides… I don't think I could muster the courage.” She turns away quickly, to hide the blush she can feel creeping up her cheeks.

“Courage...” Tadashi muses, the hint of a smile in his voice.

“I'm not strong like the others,” Hitoka elaborates. “I get scared, I'm not brave.”

“I think we have a different idea of what it means to be brave,” Tadashi simply tells her. “To face one's fears rather than not having any to begin with; to be scared but then go and do it anyway, I think that is brave. Isn't that what you do every day already?”

Hitoka's cheeks are burning when she looks at Tadashi. “You should become a healer,” is all she manages to blurt out.

“What?”

“Ah, sorry, I didn't mean to come off so strong with my wording!” she rushes to explain herself.

_ Think first, then speak, _ she chides herself inwardly.  _ When will you ever learn! _

“I simply meant--” she stutters, takes a deep breath and then tries again, staring down at her hands. “Your words are great encouragement, and you sound like you really mean them. It's something the wounded might benefit from. Saying the right thing in the right moment is a quality to be admired in healers.”

Tadashi dips low to look at her. He does that sometimes. It makes Hitoka's skin crawl with nervousness, but there's also an inexplicable excitement in having his attention, so honest and undivided resting on her. When she looks up, at last, he is close enough that she can count the freckles on the tip of his nose, if Hitoka didn’t momentarily lose all ability to focus.

“You worry too much,” he says, voice gentle and a smile playing around his lips. “I'm not offended by your suggestion at all. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Ah--” Hitoka manages weakly after a while. “I'm glad.” And she is certain that her face must look like the setting sun, judging by how warm her cheeks feel.

Tadashi, however, doesn't linger on the topic. He's already straightening his back and moving towards a table a few strides away. “Oh, I think I remember this one!” he calls out and points at an unimposing plant. “It's  _ athelas _ , right? You used it against the poisoning.”

Hitoka feels a smile spread wide across her face and nods. She had no idea that Tadashi was really paying that much attention to the bits and pieces she told him about herbs.

What surprises her most, though, is how happy she feels to know that he is listening intently. It makes it easy to tell him more when he is showing honest interest.

“What about this one?” Tadashi asks and points at another plant with brightly coloured single berries which are barely bigger than dew drops.

“That's winter cherry, we only use the roots and dried leaves in healing. When ground into a paste they soothe wounds and burns.”

“Oh,” Tadashi makes and looks away.

Hitoka can sense his sudden discomfort, and she wonders if maybe mentioning burn wounds around Tadashi was a bad idea, considering the vivid nightmares he used to suffer from. She gives him a worried look when he glances over. But he is quick to point at a group of large flowers with beautiful heads, rimmed by a crest of delicate purple petals. “Are these ones for healing, too?”

Before she replies Hitoka does a quick count of what she had collected in her basket today. It should suffice. 

“Echinacea,” she tells him the plant’s name. “They are not native here; the humans brought them and we cultivate these plants in the greenhouses. We only use them on humans. I don't actually-- I haven't-- Treating humans is something I have yet to learn.”

“Are they that difficult to take care of?”

“They're ... different,” Hitoka says and starts walking back towards the healing quarters. Tadashi hurries to fall into step next to her and soon Hitoka lays out her assorted herbs to let them dry.

“Hitoka?” Tadashi asks after a while of watching her work in silence. “Is there a way to find out more about that plant from earlier? The human one?”

“Hm,” she contemplates. “Asahi isn't around today, else we could ask him. Oh, I know!” she exclaims excitedly. “There is a book in the library with a picture and description!”

“Can we go and have a look?”

Hitoka nods. “I need to finish this first, but then, yes!” 

Tadashi gives her the brightest smile.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The library, much like his home's roof top, has always been one of the few assorted places which Kei genuinely enjoys spending time at. It is quiet there. Calm. Undistu--

A loud thud has Kei and Akiteru jolting upright in their seats.

_ What even-- _

There's hushed sounds of someone apologising, books being shuffled about and most likely put back to wherever they had been before making their journey to the floor. Kei sighs. He briefly considers getting up to complain, but Akiteru puts a steadying hand on his shoulder to keep him in place. Then silence settles and they both return to their notes scattered between them on the small round table they share.

Kei is making slow progress today; the material he's trying to get through needs deciphering. Whoever wrote it thought it necessary to use a mirrored font, and an extraordinary small one for that matter.

_ Moon runes would have done the trick well enough, _ Kei thinks to himself and fastens his magnifying glass around his head so that it is fixed in front of his left eye. He detests using it; it's heavy and the size difference when he alternates between looking with his left and his right eye always causes his head to ache after a while. But it  _ is _ the simplest and most direct way of deciphering this mess.

Akiteru elbows him.

“What,” Kei hisses.

Akiteru grins at him and whispers, “You're sighing so much, if you were human I'd worry you were suffering from an airway infection.”

Kei shakes his head. “Try my lens and then we'll talk.”

Akiteru says nothing, which is odd. Usually, he'd argue and tease, but he's been in a disturbingly bright mood lately, and rather unconcerned with Kei's behaviour. Kei isn't sure he wants to know why.

Just when he is ready to continue his reading Kei hears another whisper from somewhere between the shelves.

“It must be here  _ somewhere _ . I'm so sure I saw it only a few weeks ago!”

Kei recognises Hitoka's voice. What is she doing here? Isn't she on duty and supposed to stock up on supplies? Not that Kei minds the girl much, she isn't exactly unpleasant company or anything. But he craves  _ silence  _ when he tries to focus on his notes and, unfortunately, silence is not something Hitoka currently provides.

“What about this one?” someone asks. It's the voice of a boy Kei doesn't recognise.

“No, no, it was larger,” Hitoka insists and when Kei looks up he can see her light hair and her shoulder through gaps in the shelves.

Another hushed exchange of words follows, too quiet and mumbled for Kei to understand. From the bits and pieces he picks up he learns that they are talking about humans.

“Are they really that different from us?” the boy asks naively, and this time Kei can make out a foreign inflection to his question. He is certain he heard it before, but it escapes him where or from whom that might have been.

“Oh yes,” Hitoka whispers in reply. “Sorrow hardly seems to cause them harm as much as it does to our kin. At least not permanently. But then,” she continues and sounds outright scandalised, terrified even, “out of nothing, they wither or develop fevers without poisoning or wounds. It's scary!”

The boy's breath hitches. “So the stories are real?”

“Stories?”

“They told stories to spook us when I was little. Of something called ‘The Cold’ that robs you of your energy and replaces it with pain and fever and chills until there is nothing left of you!”

“Yes!” Hitoka squeaks. “Humans get the cold!”

Another gasp from the boy, and then he shifts into Kei's field of vision, and--

_ Oh. _

It's the freckled boy Daichi insisted on saving. Tadashi. At least now Kei can place his accent; he's heard it from the Sugawara person.

“Though,” Hitoka says then and Kei can see her twist a strand of her hair around her fingers, “they rarely actually die from a cold.”

“They... don't?”

Kei is beginning to wonder if, perhaps, someone had gone a little overboard with sleeping draught on Tadashi in the healing quarters.

“No,” Hitoka confirms and Tadashi lets out a relieved breath. “They look like they might, but then a week later or so they are up and running again as if nothing had ever happened.”

“How awesome.”

“But also scary,” Hitoka says, running her hand along the rows of books before her.

“A little,” Tadashi admits and lets out an embarrassingly flustered laugh. “But you can help them, right?”

“Ah yes! Or at least try to. Actually, I think Asahi gives them Echinacea sometim--  _ oh! _ There it is, come with me!”

They stumble around the shelf, Hitoka's arm wound around a heavy book, her other hand wrapped around Tadashi's wrist. She is pulling him towards the table that Kei and Akiteru are occupying and then Hitoka comes to an abrupt halt when she notices them.

“Kei!” she blurts out. “Akiteru!” and she bows deeply, book still tightly in her grip. “I didn't mean to-- I'm sorry for disturbing! I hadn't seen that you were here. I'll-- heh. Err...”

“It's fine, Hitoka,” Akiteru tries, overly gently so, but the girl is already retreating, uttering another string of  _ ah _ 's and  _ uh _ 's and  _ sorry _ 's until she walks backwards into a shelf and jumps out of sight with a small yelp.

Tadashi, however, hasn't moved a bit. He is  _ staring _ at Kei.

“What,” Kei says pointedly, and reaches up to unfasten the lens from his head. No need for additional discomfort.

“Thank you!” Tadashi suddenly all but shouts and bows so deep his forehead nearly knocks against the table between them.

Kei clicks his tongue in irritation.

“Kei,” Akiteru says quietly.

Tadashi snaps back upright and turns to Akiteru, eyes clearing as if he has only just noticed him. “Oh, I--” the boy splutters, and he sounds about as pathetic as the rising blush on his cheeks makes him look.

“It's fine. I'm Akiteru; Kei's, brother,” Akiteru introduces himself calmly and manages a genuine looking smile.

“Ooh...” Tadashi makes again as he looks back and forth between the two brothers and then down at their books and notes. His eyes are wide and astonished. “Are you a healer, too?”

Kei buries his face in his palm. It doesn't help. He lowers his hand again and begins to slowly spin his quill between his fingers.

“Yes,” Akiteru replies to the boy's question. “We're both healers.”

“Awesome,” Tadashi breathes out. “That's so aweso--”

“Shut up,” Kei snaps before he can stop himself. Being idolised is about the last thing he needs.

Tadashi lets out a sheepish laugh. “Sorry!”

Kei doesn't think this needs a reply, so he starts gathering up his notes and tools to leave.

“What's that?” Tadashi asks and points at the lens.

Kei barely suppresses the strong urge to roll his eyes. “What does it look like?” he counters without bothering to look up.

“Kei,” Akiteru says quietly, a silent warning accompanying his word.

“Uh... uhm... like a... round... glass thing?” Tadashi mumbles lamely.

“It's a magnifying lens,” Akiteru explains calmly.

“Awesome,” Tadashi whispers, sounding impossibly more pathetic.

Kei stands up, and for some reason that prompts Tadashi to jump back a little. He wobbles, arms flailing in search of something to steady his poor balance.

Kei reaches out to grip his shoulder before the boy can fall. “Don't jump around like that with your leg. You could get hurt.”

“Th-thank you,” Tadashi stutters. “Don't worry about me though.”

_ I don't, _ Kei thinks to himself.  _ But I don't feel like fixing you up if you hurt yourself. _

“Well, I... better get going. Hitoka has the book and--” Tadashi looks around nervously.

Kei watches him for a while before pointing to his left. “Out is that way,” he says and can feel his mouth pull up into a smirk.

The boy lets out another of his sheepish laughs. He half turns, then looks up at Kei once more. “Thank you,” he repeats. “Not only for... right now. But for... Thank you.”

Kei shrugs. “There's nothing to thank me for.” The truth of his words was intended to sting but Tadashi doesn't seem to grasp the underlying meaning.

Instead, Tadashi bows deeply again and then quickly stumbles and limps down the way he had been pointed to.

“That could have gone worse,” Akiteru teases once the boy is out of sight.

“I don’t need him telling me that I’m  _ awesome _ ,” Kei hisses.

Akiteru ignores that. “Maybe next time,” he says, “try smiling in a way that doesn't make him feel like you're about to eat him alive.”

“I don't see how it's my fault when he comes to wrong conclusions like that,” Kei says dryly, shutting his books with a little more force than necessary and placing his lens and writing tools back in the box he uses to store them. “I'm clearly not a cannibal.”

Kei can hear Akiteru’s ringing laugh after him when he leaves, but he's surprisingly unconcerned with it.

He does, however, wonder what it would take to get a raise out of that Tadashi boy with his innocent smile.

_ Pathetic _ , Kei thinks and can't help getting ideas. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The problem with having a conscience, Koushi thinks wryly, is that it often leads to him feeling guilty about things he probably needn’t feel all too guilty about. 

Koushi had spoken to Daichi earlier that day, had promised to take the news of refugees in Lindon into consideration. But if he was being honest with himself, waiting for an update before making any decisions was nothing but a poor excuse. Deep down, he had wanted to travel with Daichi from the very instant it had been offered.

Koushi has put this conversation off for much too long now. Walking into his brother's room and announcing that he will travel to Lindon should be  _ easy _ . Just that in Koushi's head it's not as simple as that. At this point he's not sure what has him hesitating. That Tadashi might ask him not to go?

And, Koushi thinks distantly, maybe a small part of him is hoping that Tadashi will ask him to stay. Specifically, the part of him that is terrified of the sheer possibility of running into relatives who might want decisions from him he isn't ready to make.

_ Tadashi doesn't even know about them, _ he thinks, guilty conscience weighing him down the longer he ponders this.

“Right...” Koushi murmurs to himself after having spent a considerable amount of time standing still in front of his brother's door. “Let's do this.”

“Right,” he repeats for good measure and takes a steadying breath before he knocks briefly. He waits for an answer.

There is none. Koushi knocks again.

Silence.

“Tadashi?” he calls out and swings the door open--

Only to face an empty room.

A light wind blows the curtains aside and then Koushi sees Tadashi hunched over their joined balcony's balustrade, weight shifted entirely on his good leg and fingers wounds tightly together.. Koushi steps outside into the cool night's air, comes to stand next to his brother.

“Hey,” Koushi says softly. Tadashi seems to be deep in thought. 

That, in itself, is a rare enough sight. Tadashi isn't usually one prone to brooding or bottling things up. Koushi can immediately feel his own unreasonable anxiety shift towards a feeling of concern about his brother. 

“What are you doing out here?”

“Just thinking,” Tadashi mumbles, barely audible, and keeps his gaze straining forward into the valley. His posture is unrelaxed and full of nervous energy.

Koushi swallows. “Do... do you need help with that?” he asks, tries to keep his voice light and untroubled. He feels oddly helpless; this is not a situation he had anticipated tonight.

Tadashi says nothing, but he does move half a step closer to Koushi so that their shoulders are brushing now, and he lets out a small sigh.

Koushi leans against him in turn.

It is one of those moments in which Koushi is hit with the realisation that Tadashi is no longer the little child he used to be. Koushi remembers how he used to be at Tadashi's age, remembers all too clearly the fits he used to throw and how he would sulk and brood for days on end over nothing.

The difference is, Koushi had always had a variety of people he could turn to, be it parents or friends. Tadashi, right now, has nobody other than Koushi. And he hasn't sent Koushi away, so Koushi stays.

They stand there for a long while, leaning against one another, and doing nothing but looking at the distant lights and listening to the soft trickling of water from the few small rivers and wells that haven't frozen still.

Tadashi's voice isn't more than a whisper when he speaks at last. “I met Kei today.”

Koushi's heart skips a beat, then speeds up rapidly. What had happened to have Tadashi this rattled over meeting another person?

Another silence settles between them and Koushi can sense that Tadashi is looking for words to say. Koushi waits, patiently, curiously.

“He...” Tadashi begins softly, shakes his head then. “He's intimidating. But also amazing. He must have really sharp senses to be a field healer.”

None of that sounds terrible, and Koushi finds himself wondering whether Kei is the true reason for Tadashi being all absent-minded tonight. He thinks probably not and ducks his head to hide his smile. Mentioning one thing when he's thinking of something entirely different is a tactic Koushi is all too familiar with from himself.

“He is so different from Asahi,” Tadashi says then, still talking about Kei.

“Are you surprised about that?”

“It hadn't really occurred to me before,” Tadashi admits.

“I'd say it's safe to assume that healers aren't limited to certain character traits.” Koushi shrugs. “Hitoka is different from them yet again.”

“A-ah, yes, she is,” Tadashi agrees, but his syllables are stumbling across his lips too high and too fast and  _ oh-- _ is that the hint of a blush blossoming high on Tadashi's cheeks? Koushi has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning.

“Kei has a brother, too. Did you know?” Tadashi offers quickly.

Koushi chuckles at the sudden change of topics. “Ah yes, I heard. Akiteru who might - or might not - be involved with Daichi's sister,” he rephrases the various pieces of gossip he had caught over the course of the past weeks.

Tadashi giggles. And it is that sound, the small and innocent laugh, that prompts Koushi to take a deep breath and muster the courage to finally bring up what had him seek out Tadashi tonight in the first place.

“So, while we're here, discussing maybe's and probably's...” Koushi starts and yet he doesn't know how to say what he needs to. He stares down at his own hands, feels Tadashi's gaze on him. “Hypothetically speaking, if there were a chance to travel to Lindon and-- I mean, there  _ might  _ be news about others from home. And if the return would be as quickly as possib--”

“I would tell you to go,” Tadashi interrupts him before Koushi can ramble on.

Koushi blinks up at him. “I haven't even told you when.”

Tadashi smiles faintly. “Well?”

“Shortly after Winter Solstice.”

“Ah,” Tadashi makes.

“There would be others. It would be relatively safe.”

Tadashi hums. “The same travelling group that Daichi would join?”

Koushi stares at him.  _ How does Tadashi know?  _ Koushi suspects that Asahi and gossip from the healing quarters are somehow to blame; and - it might be a habit he had picked up from Daichi - blaming Asahi was surprisingly easy in all kinds of matters.

“That would be the one, yes,” Koushi confirms.

“Then you should go. Daichi is good at keeping people safe.”

“But Tadashi, you realise that you--”

“That I what? Can’t come with you? Am not strong enough to travel far?”

Koushi gapes at him.

“I have no illusions about what I can and cannot do as of now,” Tadashi says calmly and once again Koushi thinks that his brother really is growing up. “But I would like to know if any of our friends have found refuge in Lindon.”

Koushi does nothing, finds himself incapable of doing anything than stare at his brother.

“So, please?” Tadashi adds. “Please go in my stead? No maybe's or probably's.”

Koushi grips the balustrade tightly, stares down at his own knuckles going white. The sting when his nails dig into stone steadies him for his next words. “I... don't want it to seem as if I'm leaving you behind.”

“You're not,” Tadashi says, immediately, sounding a bit perplexed, as if that hadn't even crossed his mind. And maybe it hadn't. Tadashi doesn’t have the same tendency to complicate things that Koushi has. “I know you'll come back.”

There's rustling of fabric, the quick flickering of Tadashi's fingers at the corner of Koushi's vision. And then Tadashi lifts Koushi's hand away from the balustrade and pushes something into his palm.

It takes a while for Koushi to realise what it is, and then realisation hits him full force. “I can't take this,” he says, shocked. He wants to push the bracelet back into Tadashi's hands, secure it where it belongs.

But Tadashi raises his hands high up where Koushi can't reach him and smiles down at him brightly. “Not your decision,” he declares.

“Tadashi!” Koushi exclaims in exasperation.

“Koushi,” Tadashi mocks back.

“Tadashi, I'm serious. I can't take this. This is the only thing you have left of your parents.”

“Well then... you better make sure you return it to me safely,” Tadashi says, sounding a little victorious, and then he laughs in the innocent and sheepish way Koushi adores so much about him.

Koushi's heart swells at the utter trust his little brother has for him. Without wasting another thought he lurches forward and catches Tadashi in a tight embrace, pressing his face against the younger's shoulder.

“I'm not worried,” Tadashi says and accommodates Koushi gingerly by lowering his hands and wrapping his lanky arms around him.

Koushi smiles into the fabric of his cloak.

“But I know you, Kou,” Tadashi continues, “you like these silly things, reassurances and promises.”

“'s not silly,” Koushi mumbles stubbornly without letting go.

“Did you think I'd tell you not to go?”

Koushi shakes his head too vehemently to be sincere.

Tadashi laughs.

“And here I was, thinking that the elder brother should take care of the younger,” Koushi says dryly.

Tadashi giggles again but the sound turns into a yawn quickly.

“It's late, you should get some sleep,” Koushi says softly and pulls away.

Tadashi is already moving to pull the curtain back from the doorway to get back inside when Koushi remembers something else, something important. 

“Tadashi?” he calls out gently. “You know I'm here for you... You can talk to me if you… If you need help with thinking.”

Tadashi stalls in his movements without turning, then he yawns once more, louder and more deliberate this time. Koushi reaches out to ruffle his hair. They step inside the room together and when Koushi closes the balcony door to keep the cool night air outside he feels a small sliver of hope coil in his chest and fill him with warmth.

Maybe, just maybe, after everything terrible that has happened, there is something good lined up for them.

Maybe, Koushi hardly dares to think, he will even see Yaku again very soon.

He sleeps deep and without dreams that night. And it is not until the next day that Koushi gets further confirmation that having run into Kei has probably really not been the foremost thing on Tadashi's mind. 

 

* * *

 

Daichi picks him up for dinner as he had promised.

“So...?” he asks expectantly when Koushi opens the door.

“So?” Koushi teases and gives him a wide smile. “What do you think?”

Daichi suddenly looks very young when he clasps his hands together in front of him and says, hopefully, “Wild guess... you're going to travel with me?”

“Hmm,” Koushi makes, tapping his chin as if to contemplate his answer. Daichi is too easily messed with for Koushi to refrain. “Correct,” he announces eventually, and tries not to think too much about the warm feeling pooling in his chest when Daichi gives him the brightest smile.

They head out together then, to search for Asahi. They find Tadashi in his stead, who informs them that Asahi and Hitoka have been working on something next door earlier.

The three of them go there, but there is only Hitoka to be found. The girl is standing on tiptoes on the counter underneath one of the high up shelves, arranging something there, or possibly looking for something. When they push open the door Hitoka turns and jumps at the sound. One of her feet slips and she loses her balance.

Koushi gasps, slow to react, when Daichi is already next to her and holding out his arms.

But Tadashi is lurching forward to catch her. He moves with all the grace of someone whose final growth spurt hasn't happened long ago enough for him to be used to his long limbs yet, and his injured leg only adds to the elegance with which he practically stumbles face first into Hitoka's chest.

Hitoka clings to Tadashi with a yelp, surely ridding him of some superfluous strands of hair judging by how tightly she grips on in her panic. Tadashi is struggling to not drop her while also attempting to get his head into any more appropriate place than having it pressed snug against the swell of Hitoka's breasts.

Koushi can't help it. He bursts out laughing at the sight of these two. It's too much; Tadashi's utterly mortified expression and the way his ears look as if they're about to start burning.

They would’ve nearly toppled to the ground if it wasn't for Daichi steadying them both before anything could go terribly wrong. Miraculously, all three of them stay upright, Hitoka caught hanging mid-air in an awkward three-way embrace between Tadashi and Daichi.

“Umhh,” Daichi makes, barely stifling a chuckle himself, while Koushi is trying to get his bearing.

“When you two are quite done, tell Asahi that we're headed to dinner already,” Daichi says nonchalantly and effectively throws Koushi into another giggle fit.

Daichi gently pries Hitoka’s hands away from Tadashi’s hair and sets her down as if she weighs nothing - and to him she probably doesn't, Koushi thinks distantly and is suddenly busy trying not to ogle Daichi's arms too openly. 

“Thank you,” Tadashi lets out a relieved breath, leaning against the counter heavily. He decidedly looks any other direction than at Hitoka. Hitoka herself paints the picture of someone who wants nothing more than to sink into the ground and disappear for good.

Daichi has the nerve to beam at them, and then he and Koushi leave the room and let the door fall shut behind them.

“Didn't I tell you,” Daichi whispers and grins broadly, “ _ those two _ .”

“Daichi!” Koushi whines in protest.

Daichi does nothing but  _ snort _ with laughter so Koushi elbows him hard enough to make him gasp. “Maybe we will find Asahi if we look for Noya instead,” he whispers darkly.

Daichi's expression immediately turns into one of horror and it's Koushi's turn to laugh. 

“Glad we got that settled,” Koushi says cheerfully. “Now, shall we?”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (in case anyone missed it and still wants to read, I posted a yaku/suga background story to this, you can read it here: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/7255021> )
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and comments are - as always - very appreciated <3


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